Come See the Paradise
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart Maverick never understood Samantha Crawford's or Amy Stanhope's obsession with a piece of land. Until he saw Lakota Pass and fell head over heels in love. Once he owns the mountain, it does its best to drive him crazy.
1. At First Sight

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 1 – At First Sight

It had been a long, slow climb up the side of the mountain, and both brothers were pleased when they finally crested the hill and saw the road and valley below stretch out before them. There were storm clouds gathering overhead and a mist lingered over everything, but the sun broke through in several spots and cast a warm glow over the trees that it reached. The younger brother, not prone to be astonished by too much in the way of scenery, felt his breath catch in his throat when he viewed the sight in front of him. For the first time in his life, he found his surroundings to be breathtakingly beautiful.

His brother, riding slightly ahead of him, heard the small gasp and turned back towards the sound to see if there was a problem. Bart's face reflected a stunned expression, and Bret wondered what he'd missed that left his brother in such awe. "You okay, son?" he called, and Bart's head bobbed up and down, but no sound came out of his mouth.

The younger man pulled his horse up and sat looking out across the unexpected splendor. For the first time in years he was simply overwhelmed by the view in front of him. "Bart, come on!" his brother yelled, and he finally urged his mount forward. He was utterly lost for words.

They started down the mountain on the dirt and rock road, the horses skidding and sliding as they picked their way carefully along the path. He blinked once, twice, and almost expected the visage in front of him to disappear, but it remained fixed in his sight, gaining grandeur and clarity as he rode down the hill. He felt frozen, no longer wanting to travel on to the town known as Mystic. He wanted to stop and stay right where he was, and never have to look at any other land the rest of his life.

"Bart, what is wrong with you?" Bret called again, once more turning around in the saddle to check on his brother's progress. Or rather, his lack of progress. "We'll never get to town before dark if you don't move a little faster. What are ya gonna do, pitch a tent and stay there?"

Yes, exactly. That's exactly what he wanted to do. He shook his head, to try and erase the picture from his brain, but it had taken root there and had no intention of leaving. "It's just so . . . . so beautiful," he mumbled under his breath. Realizing that Bret was correct, and not really wanting to sleep on the ground one more night, he nudged the gelding forward and caught up to the lead rider.

"What were you thinking?"

Bart chuckled at his brother's question. "I . . . . . really wasn't," he answered. "I wasn't thinking at all." That was true. He was so taken with the vista in front of him that he'd stopped worrying about everything and just let his mind flutter off on its own. "Sorry."

"Considering how long it's taken us to get here and the way we've had to spend our nights, I'd think you'd be in a hurry to get out of the hills." The hills Bret spoke of, of course, were the Black Hills of South Dakota, occupied mainly by the Lakota Indian Nation, and they were none too happy with the encroaching white populace. The reason for the 'invasion' by the white man could be explained in one word – gold. Where there was gold, there were miners. And where there were miners there was poker. Thus the reason for the Maverick's trek into the towns and mining camps of the region. They were currently headed towards what had started as a small mining camp and grown rapidly into the town known as Mystic, where gambling was second only to drinking as a full-time occupation when not searching for what rightfully belonged to the Lakota's.

The brothers had been traveling together for some time now, ever since leaving Dodge City for Reno. When things didn't work out there quite the way they envisioned they'd spent a while in San Francisco, then gone on to Denver for what promised to be a big poker game. It was big alright, but not in the way they'd planned. Forced to find a way to re-establish a poker stake, Bart had taken work as a Faro dealer while Bret played small-time poker and picked up whatever work came his way. It took them almost three months to get back on their feet, but by the time Bret's near-fatal gunshot wound was truly healed they had enough money to head out again for parts unknown. Which led them into territories they might not normally frequent.

The moment they'd encroached on Lakota land they'd taken turns sleeping in shifts, trying to stay alive and maintain possession of a full head of hair. Sleeping half the night and keeping watch the other half was no way to spend the nights as far as the Mavericks were concerned, and both looked forward to an actual town and a proper hotel, and the biggest luxury of all, a bed. Oh yes, and a bath. Fastidiousness about one's personal grooming does not do well when riding a horse all day and sleeping on the dirt at night.

So Bret Maverick was not inclined to indulge his brother's peculiar fascination with the surrounding landscape any longer than necessary. He was tired and dirty and starving, and he wanted all the things he'd been missing for the past week. That meant doing whatever was required to hurry his brother along. It was still a several hour ride to Mystic and he saw no reason to make it any lengthier than it had to be.

Bart sighed. How to explain to Bret the hold the land in front of him had claimed on his heart and mind. He couldn't, because he didn't understand it himself. He'd never been drawn to the land; not at home in Little Bend, Texas or any other place he'd been. Land was just a place to build houses and saloons and hotels, to keep cattle and horses, and any other important property. He couldn't understand Samantha Crawford or Amy Stanhope and their intense love of their particular piece of earth, and he'd never tried to. And without warning the same feeling had grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go, and under no circumstances did he want to leave.

And he knew he had to. He was just as dirty and tired and hungry as Bret, and he wanted nothing more than a meal, a bath and a clean bed. But he wanted it right here, in this very spot, and not down in a town he'd never seen. So he sighed again and dug his heels into Noble's side, and the gelding snorted his displeasure. "Sorry, old man. Gotta catch up with the boss." The horse snorted again but broke into a quick trot until his rider pulled him up alongside Bret's new mount.

He'd had a mare in Dodge City, a gentle, sweet-natured golden roan girl that would do anything asked of her, and Bret left her there with Matt Clennon because a seven year-old boy needs just that kind of mount. In Denver he'd bought a high-spirited dark brown stallion, not much more than three or four years old, and a bit on the cantankerous side. His name was Foxworth, and Bret had immediately shortened it to Fox due to his quick movements. They were still getting to know each other, and it could be a tempestuous relationship at times. When Noble came up on his flank the stallion nickered his aggravation and strained at the reins to pull away.

"Settle down, Fox, you been ridin' with him for days," came the command, which the horse promptly ignored. Noble moved to the left and nudged the stallion, who quickly decided the best thing to do was unseat his rider. Bret wasn't having any of that and kept a firm hand on the unruly stallion.

"And you thought Noble was a handful," laughed Bart, glad to see his brother distracted enough to quit nagging him to hurry along. "You've got yourself a problem there."

Bret nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I shoulda listened to you and bought the pinto. Fox makes Noble look like a child's pony in temperament."

"Oh, you wanna repeat that statement? You shoulda listened to me?"

"Smart aleck. Yes, I shoulda listened to you. Next time I buy a horse just hit me in the head, okay?"

"Can I get that in writing?"

"No."

The road had evened out and both horses broke into a cantor. Bart looked around once more, making sure he knew this spot so he could find it again when he wanted to. They rode the rest of the way down the mountain in silence, and it wasn't until they were into the next valley that either of them spoke. "Why the heck is the town named Mystic, anyway?"

"How should I know?" the older brother answered. "Maybe somebody that had visions named it. You know, like your dreams."

Bart hadn't told Bret about the one he'd had in Dodge City, which featured them as old men rocking on the porch. He wondered what his brother would make out of that one. Sometimes he understood the things he dreamt; sometimes he didn't. He just knew that whenever something seemed to be bothering him he'd bring forth a strange one, and he had ceased worrying about them. They seemed to have a mind of their own, anyway. Back to the name of the town.

"Maybe it's named for a Medicine Man," Bart offered, and Bret nodded.

"Sounds reasonable. Better than any other answer I've got."

"Or maybe it's named for the mist that hung in the air up there," and Bart nodded at the mountain they'd just descended.

Bret laughed and remarked, "Doesn't all that thinkin' make your head hurt?

"Nope, not in the least," Bart answered as they rode up in front of the hotel, appropriately named 'Mystic Hotel.' "Not any more than yours does."

They dismounted and tied up the horses, then went inside. "We'd like a room, and we each need a bath drawn," Bret told the desk clerk.

"Alright, sir, that'll be two dollars for the room and fifty cents extra for the baths. Sign the register, please," and the clerk pointed to the book and pen.

"Your turn to pay, Brother Bart," Bret reminded his brother as he signed the register.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," commented the younger of the two gamblers. "Why do I get stuck with all the expensive places?"

"Just lucky, I guess. Just remember why we're here."

"Me remember? I wasn't the one that lost all our money in Denver," this was thrown out like a wet dog seeking comfort from a rainstorm.

"I've never seen a run of cards like that. You said the same thing."

"Just humorin' you."

"Gentlemen," the clerk interrupted the brothers. "Who gets the first bath?"

"I do," they both said at the same time. "Flip a coin?" Bret asked nonchalantly.

"Cut the curds," Bart answered, knowing that Bret still had his two-headed coin. "My cards."

"Fine," Bret answered. He pulled a jack from Bart's deck, and his brother turned over a king.

"I do," Bart stated. "How late is supper served in the dinin' room?"

"Until nine o'clock, Mr. Maverick," the clerk answered as he read the register. "You should have plenty of time."

"Ah, that's a lovely sound, isn't it Brother Bret? Plenty of time."

"Yes, sir, Brother Bart, it most certainly is. Shall we adjourn to our room?"

"You betcha. Last one there pays for supper." And Bart took off for the staircase, a half step ahead.

Bret turned to the desk clerk and smirked. "Children," he pronounced, and took off after his brother.


	2. Crazy

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 2 – Crazy

"Ah, that was a delicious steak," Bart pronounced, happy he'd finally had something besides beans and jerky. He was particularly pleased that Bret had paid for it.

"I still don't understand how you can ruin good beef like that," Bret retaliated.

"And I don't understand how you can eat meat that's barely dead," his brother answered.

"Well, at least mine still has flavor. Yours is just . . . . . burned."

"We're never gonna change each other's minds. Why do we do this every time we eat steak?"

"For the same reason whoever deals gets to cheat. It's just what we do."

"That's just it, Brother Bret. Everything lately is 'just what we do.' When did we get to be so predictable?"

"I – " Bret started to answer his brother and then realized Bart was right. "I don't know. Maybe we oughta try somethin' different."

"Yeah, but what?"

"That requires some thought. How about we go investigate the local saloon and see what kind of poker they play – and after a good night's sleep in a real bed we can talk about it some more."

For lack of anything better to do Bart agreed with his brother. They strolled outside, each lighting a cigar, and walked three doors down to the saloon. There were a dozen or so men inside the 'Palace Bar' and only one poker game going. "You go ahead and play," Bart advised his brother. "I don't much feel like it." He went to the bar and ordered coffee, standing and watching Bret take the empty space at the table and introduce himself all around. He kept thinking about the land at the top of the mountain they'd seen, and that's what had prompted the remark about being predictable. Why had it exhibited such a hold over him?

The bartender didn't have much to do and soon he and Bart were involved in a conversation. His name was Ray Sunshine ("Yeah, my mama had real fun with that") and he knew just the piece of land Bart asked him about. "Just gorgeous, ain't it?" Ray asked as he poured the curious gambler another cup of coffee. "It belongs to Fenn Atwater. He wanted to build a cabin up there, but the Lakota's say that's sacred ground and he can't build nothin'. He's tried two or three times and somethin' always stops him. The first time he got it partway built and his foreman got killed by a lightnin' strike. Second time he had all the materials for a house and his missus caught the fever an died. Third time they went back up and everythin' was gone. That was almost ten years ago. He just give up."

"But he still owns it?"

"Yeah, he still owns it. Nobody round here'll touch it, cause of everythin' that happened up there."

"Would he sell it for the right price?"

"Don't see why not. It's just sittin' there doin' nothin'. Whatta you want it for?"

"I'm not sure. Is that trail up the mountain used much?"

"That one you come in on? Naw, not too many come that way anymore. Easier round the other way, closer to where they found gold. There's an Injun woman livin' up there, kinda like a caretaker. Pretty little thing, livin' up there all alone. Speaks pretty good English, too. Comes down here about once a month fer supplies. Matter a fact she's due in just a couple days. You might wanna talk to her. She always comes by here and gets a paper for she leaves. Her name's Kimimela. You stayin' at the hotel?"

"Yeah – me and my brother."

"If I'm here when she come by I'll send for ya. Won't hurt to talk to her."

"No, it won't. Where can I find this Fenn Atwater?"

"Oh, he's got a ranch about five miles outta town on the west road. He'll be out there. Tall fella, bout your size, maybe twenty years older. Kinda grey hair, wears a mustache. Always got a hound named Luther with him. Say, you're not no sheep man, are ya? Fenn'd never sell to no sheep man."

"Nope, not a sheep man. Me and my brother are both poker players."

"Oh, that's alright," the bartender told him. "He ain't got no dislike for gamblers like he does sheep men."

"That's good to know. Thanks for the information, Ray." He paid for the coffee and walked to the door, catching Bret's eye and motioning 'outside.' Bret nodded and Bart continued out into the night, sitting down on one of the chairs on the sidewalk in front of the saloon. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, trying to figure out what had happened to him today. He was in the saloon talking about _buying a piece of land_. He could just imagine Bret in his head. "Brother Bart, what  are you doing?"

"I don't know, Bret," he said out loud to no one. "I'm just as confused as you are."

XXXXXXXX

"You're doin' what?" Bret was incredulous. His brother, _his brother_ , had just told him he wanted to go talk to someone outside of town about property for sale. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I guess I have," came the answer.

They were eating breakfast, even though it was almost noon. Bret had spent the night comfortably in the bed, sound asleep, where normal rational people spent it. Unbeknownst to him, Bart had spent most of the night sitting in the dark, at the window, not wrestling with his demons as he had in Silver Creek, Montana, all those years ago, yet unable to settle into anything that resembled rest. _Something_ had happened yesterday on their way into town, and it had profoundly affected him. _Something_ drove him now, to find out more about land, _land_ , that he had seen for a few short minutes while passing through. He didn't blame Bret for questioning his sanity. He'd done the very same thing, all night long.

"What are you gonna do with a piece of land?" was the next question. "A piece of _sacred Lakota land_?"

"Not sure. What do you usually do with land?"

Bret shook his head. What was his brother thinking? Was he thinking? Something had been not quite right ever since they left Dodge City, but this was beyond bizarre. "You plan on living on the land? Settling down in one place? Here, in the middle of nowhere? Doing what to stay alive?"

"That's not fair. I can do more than just play poker."

"Yeah? What?"

"I can – well, I can . . . . . "

Bret sat at the table, arms crossed, and waited for an answer. Half his breakfast still sat on his plate, waiting to be consumed, but Bret had lost his appetite. This was close to the craziest thing he'd ever heard come out of his brother's mouth. No, wait – this was the craziest thing.

"I can raise cattle."

"Yes, you can. For about five minutes. Then what?"

"I don't know, Bret. I'll think of somethin'."

"What's wrong, Bart? What's been botherin' you? Somethin' hasn't been right since we left Dodge. And now all this talk about buyin' land and stayin' in one place. Is it still Caroline? After all these years? Or is there somethin' else goin' on here?"

The younger brother shook his head. "I don't know. I never understood Sam or Amy wantin' to stay in one place. And then we rode through that pass yesterday. And somethin' changed. Somethin' looked better than a thousand dollar bill. Somethin' just reached out and took hold a me. I _wanna_ be there. I _need_ to be there. I don't have any answers for anything right now. I just know I have to pursue this. Go right ahead an call me crazy. You're probably right."

Bret looked down at his plate. "You may be crazy, but you're still my brother. Let's go find this Atwater fella."


	3. Curses and Witches and Ghosts, Oh My

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 3 – Curses and Witches and Ghosts, Oh My

The bartender was correct; Fenn Atwater's ranch was just a little less than five miles down the west road leading away from Mystic. The brothers rode in silence most of the way, with Bart wondering just when he'd lost his mind and Bret wondering why. A man fitting the description Bart had received was out in front, mounted on his horse and ready to leave when they rode up.

"Mr. Atwater?"

"Yes."

"I'm Bart Maverick and this is my brother Bret. Do you have a few minutes to talk to us?"

"What's this about?"

"That piece of property up on the mountain, just before you ride into Mystic."

Fenn Atwater had a skeptical look on his face. "That land is cursed."

"Cursed or not, Mr. Atwater, we'd like to talk to you about it."

"Alright." Atwater got down off his horse and shook hands with Bart. "Your name's Maverick?"

"Yes, sir, Bart, and Bret. I talked to Ray at the 'Palace Bar' last night about that property. He said you might be willing to sell it."

"Oh, I'd be willing to sell it, alright. The question is why you'd want to buy it. Why don't you and your brother come on inside? We can talk in comfort, at least."

Bret dismounted and they tied their horses out front, then followed Atwater in. "Over here, by the table," he directed them. "Got some coffee fresh from lunch. You gents like some?"

The brothers nodded. "Thanks," Bart said as Atwater brought cups and a coffee pot to the table and poured.

"You rode through the land on the way into town?"

"Yes sir, we did. Ray said you tried to build up there several times?"

"That's for sure, I did. Three times, as a matter a fact. That's how I know it's cursed. Most beautiful place I've ever seen. Lakota say its sacred burial ground, and I believe it. If you're smart, you'll keep right on goin' and forget you ever saw it."

"What happened up there, Mr. Atwater?" Bret asked unexpectedly.

"Oh God, call me Fenn. Everybody else does. I had a foreman, name a Billy Lynch. He'd built lots of houses and such, and Billy was gonna run the construct up there while I ran the ranch down here. He went up there one afternoon to do preliminary work. Took two other men with him. Sun was shinin', bright as could be. Got up there and a storm come up outta nowhere. Billy ran for the horses and got hit by lightnin'. Killed him outright."

"Ray said somethin' about your wife?" Bart was next.

"Yep. Three or four years later I took Ginny up there an showed her the land. She thought it was real pretty and was all for buildin' a house. I got all the materials up there. Logs, boards, nails, everything. Ginny caught the fever an died within two weeks. Nobody else in the valley got sick. Nobody. Went up there one more time and all the construction materials was gone. Just wiped clean. Everything, like somebody came along an loaded it all up and left with it. Ain't been back up there since. You want it, Maverick, you can have it. Cheap."

Bret looked at his brother across the table. There was light dancing in Bart's eyes, like Bret hadn't seen for months on end. When Bart looked at him questioningly, he simply nodded.

"How much is cheap, Mr. Atwater?" Bart asked, excitement in his voice.

Atwater sat for a minute, studying the two men sitting in front of him. They looked like decent sorts, clean-shaven and clean, young and eager. Dare he sell them the cursed land? "Say, you ain't sheep-raisin' men, are ya?"

"No, sir," answered the man most eager to buy the property.

Atwater stroked his chin. "Well, this is somethin' I never thought about. Tell ya what, I'll let ya have it for what I paid for it. I don't want no profit from that land. A thousand dollars, straight out."

"You're serious? A thousand dollars?" The man with the poker face and no discernable tells when he was playing cards almost fell out of his chair, he was so eager to pay. "I'll take it. I can give you cash right now. You're sure now, you won't change your mind?" And Bart Maverick pulled out his wallet and counted out one thousand dollars.

Bret put his hand on Bart's. "You sure you want to do this? You've heard the stories."

He'd never seen his brother so eager to spend money. "I'm sure."

"Well, I never expected that. Let me write you a bill a sale, here, and you can take this back to town and get an official deed, all registered and everything. Just remember, Mr. Maverick, I told ya all the tales and warned ya. Yer on yer own now."

Bart and Fenn exchanged money for the Bill of Sale and shook hands. Both men had big smiles on their faces. Bret's expression could be called a grimace, at best.

Bart was humming as he mounted and rode away from Fenn Atwater's ranch, now a property owner. "Now what?" Bret asked, almost afraid of the answer he might get.

Bart's smile never dimmed one bit, but he did concede, "I have no idea."

XXXXXXXX

There was a legal office inside the Wells Fargo Bank, used mostly to process gold claims, but for the small fee of two dollars they were able to convert Bart's Bill of Sale into a Deed to the land. As the brothers walked back out of the bank, Bart was doing that annoying humming again. Bret did his best to ignore it.

"Well, Mr. Property Owner, I don't know about you but I want a nap. It's not every day that I get to watch my brother lose his mind and it's made me tired. What about you?"

"Couldn't sleep even if I had to," the answer came back. "I'm goin' for a ride."

"And I bet I can guess where you're goin', too," Bret remarked. "Just be careful. Please do your best not to activate any curses on the very first day you own the land, would ya?"

Bart chuckled. He didn't believe in curses or witches or ghosts. "I'll be careful, big brother," he promised. "It's Friday. I'll be back for poker tonight. Gotta see what this town has to offer. Especially if I'm gonna – oh, I don't know what I'm gonna do," he finished. He started to walk away and Bret grabbed him by the arm.

"Bart," Bret intoned, "I'm glad you got what you wanted. I hope it makes you happy."

"It already has, Bret. It already has."


	4. Hermosa Tierra

Lakota words translated at the end of the chapter

Chapter 4 – Hermosa Tierra

Despite Bret's earlier assertion that the town of Mystic was 'several hours' from the land Bart had just purchased, it actually only required an hour to return to the mountain. He took his time making the climb back to the spot that had first captured his attention, determined to see everything. Noble had no problem adapting to the slower pace, particularly since they were climbing.

And then he had arrived, and the sight once again took his breath away. There were no storm clouds, and no mist hung in the air, yet it was every bit as beautiful as it had been when first seen. As they approached the peak of the road Bart brought Noble to a halt and dismounted, holding onto the reins. The sunlight danced among the trees and gave an almost eerie feel to the landscape. There was an old log a few feet back from the pathway, perhaps one of Fenn Atwater's missing pieces of building material, and Bart made himself comfortable on it and surveyed his new 'kingdom.' He still didn't understand why the land had taken such hold of him, but he'd solved one potential problem – the mountain now belonged to him.

He thought about the look on Bret's face when he willingly paid money he'd spent months working for on a piece of property he'd seen for all of five minutes. He could just imagine the things Pappy might have to say when he discovered his youngest son had lost his mind and bought land in the Black Hills of South Dakota. None of that mattered. Bret hadn't seen it the way he had, and Pappy was a thousand miles away. He heard something in the brush and watched as a jackrabbit nonchalantly hopped out to see who this intruder was. The animal stood tall on his hind legs and sniffed the air, and Bart couldn't resist a greeting.

"Hey, Jack, you live up here? Maybe I will too. You think there's room for me here?"

The rabbit bounded away, not paying any attention to the invader. Bart sat on the log for almost an hour, just soaking in the beauty and tranquility of his surroundings. It was so different here from his usual life – loud, raucous, smoky, and dangerous. Filled with tension and strife, it was soothing to hear nothing but chirping birds and the wind in the trees. It all seemed so new and fresh to him – why had be never appreciated the quiet beauty that was all around before? Was that what Samantha and Amy were trying to get him to see and understand? How could he have missed it when it was right in front of his very eyes?

He changed positions to get more comfortable, sitting on the ground and leaning his head back against the log. Noble was happily munching away at the grass around him and Bart let his mind wander off to parts unknown. Without much resistance he found himself dozing, slowly drifting into peaceful slumber. Stillness surrounded him, and his body embraced the rest he'd been unable to find last night. Promise to his brother or no promise to his brother, he was soon sleeping soundly, even Noble's chomping and chewing not enough to keep him awake.

XXXXXXXX

She sat still, without making a sound or moving, and watched the white man closely. He seemed rather odd, walking up the mountain almost like the ground was wákan. Of course it was, but how would a white man know that?

He seemed very quiet, almost shy, not at all like the brazen, bold men she'd encountered in the little town they called 'Mystic.' She noticed how gentle he was with his horse, and almost laughed when the jackrabbit jumped out and he talked to it. His voice was soft and soothing, and she felt herself liking him, rather than fearing him, as she did so many of the pale skinned people.

He sat on a log, unafraid to get dirt on himself, and stayed there for an extended period of time. He seemed to be doing nothing more than watching and listening. And then, when she thought he would stand up and leave, he sat on the ground, using the log as a pillow, and fell asleep! Right out in the open, with nothing above him but the trees and the sky, and no weapon in his hand!

She remained motionless, as she'd been taught to do, until she was absolutely positive that he was deeply asleep. Then she crept out of the brush behind him and padded soundlessly over to his horse, who remained stock still and silent while she investigated the contents of his saddlebags. Two decks of cards, some dried jerky, a white square that the pale eyes called a 'handkerchief,' and a dirty, disembodied rag doll. On the other side was a book like she'd seen the missionary man carrying, and when she opened it up discovered it was, indeed, a Bible. Was this man a missionary of some sort?

He didn't look that way. He looked more like what they called a tramp? That wasn't the whole thing, and she searched her memory until the rest of it came to her. 'Saddle tramp.' That was it. A saddle tramp. And yet not. He was clean-shaven, well-groomed, with hands that had never done hard, dirty work. And he carried no liquor with him of any kind. Didn't all those people drink?

He muttered something under his breath and she froze until he'd stopped moving and gotten quiet again. Then she stepped with cat-like grace over to where he slept to take a closer look. He was young and handsome in a white-man sort of way, with dark hair. He looked to be tall, lean, and muscular like all of the men in her tribe. There was something different about this one, and she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. Darkness began to fall, and she slipped back into the brush just as his horse whinnied and the man started to wake.

"What? Huh? Noble, is that you?" she heard clearly, and watched from her vantage point as he yawned, stretched, and sat up. He looked up at the sky and saw the first of the moon and the beginning of the twinkling stars and laughed, a pleasing, melodious sound. "We're in trouble now, boy," he said to the horse. This man spoke to animals! Just like the Braves at home. Perhaps he was not like the rest of the pale faces?

The man got up from the ground and picked up the horses reins, mounted in one fluid movement and turned back, almost staring right at Kimimela. "I'll be back, hermosa tierra," he whispered, and swung the animal back down the mountain road. She stood and watched him ride, tall and straight, at ease in the saddle, until he was out of sight. _'T_ _ó_ _keka'_ , she thought. Not at all like the others she'd seen, and she wondered if he'd be back. And what it would mean to her and the land if he did come back.

XXXXXXXX

Bret looked at his watch. It was almost eight o'clock and there was still no sign of his brother. Well, he'd waited long enough and he wasn't going to wait any longer. He didn't know quite what was wrong with Bart, but whatever had been bothering him since they left Dodge City was manifesting itself in the strangest ways. Bart hadn't slept last night; Bret knew because he woke several times during the night and his brother was in the same spot every time, in a chair staring out the windows. Just like he had after the disastrous incident in Montana.

Life was so much simpler when they were children. Then Bart had been happy-go-lucky, a charmer with puppy-dog-eyes and a smile that would break your heart. He stayed much the same way as they grew up, even weathering the stint in a Yankee Prisoner-of-War camp without losing his sense of humor. But it seemed like ever since they'd gone out on their own, playing poker and traveling the country for a living, that everything had changed. Maybe it was the hard knocks that seemed to follow Bart everywhere he went, maybe it was just the first one that had befallen him and knocked him to his knees. Ever since Caroline Crawford's untimely murder, he'd been different. Quieter, more hesitant to express his feelings, more prone to do things that at one time would have seemed out of character.

But this last year had been a carnival ride unlike any other. First he'd spent an inordinate amount of time with their father, and it was almost as if Pappy had laid some deep, dark secret on Bart. Next he decided to go into business with Declan Savoy in Reno. Then he was forced to travel to Dodge City and live there for months while he tried to unravel the truth behind Bret's 'death.' Then back across the country to Reno, just to have his plans with Declan fall apart when the partnership took on a disturbing cast. And now the latest. He'd bought property outside of a little mining town in South Dakota, land that he'd already been told was cursed and resided in Lakota Indian territory. And instead of staying in town to rest and get ready for a week-end of non-stop poker, he was off gallivanting somewhere by himself, doing God-knew-what, God-knew-where. Well, not entirely true. Bret knew exactly where, back up on the mountaintop that had cast some sort of spell over him.

What had happened to his brother? Had all the strain of a nomadic life with no roots planted anywhere finally claimed him for its victim? Had Bart lost his sense of reality? Bret was really beginning to wonder if the man he was traveling with was the boy he'd grown up with or not. Just as he was about to give up hope of getting any kind of an answer tonight or anytime soon his brother burst through the hotel room door, panting and out of breath.

"Sorry I'm late. I, uh, fell asleep. Just give me five minutes to change clothes and I'll be ready to go. Honest. Sorry, Brother Bret."

And while Bret sat on the bed and speculated about whether his brother was still in his right mind or not, Bart shaved, washed up, combed his hair and changed clothes. There was a smile on his face and a light dancing in his eyes, and Bret decided to put his concerns away for the time being and just go play poker. There would be plenty of time later to speculate on just what it was that was making Bart act so bizarrely.

wákan - holy

hermosa tierra – beautiful land

tókeka – different


	5. Practical Magic

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 5 – Practical Magic

The Mavericks came to play poker and play poker they did. Mystic was a strange little town; part mining camp and part growing city. Since the gold claims were so close to the town, the miners simply went into Mystic to drink and gamble rather than construct a saloon of their own. Bret always had good luck in mining camps; Bart's was more sporadic but still better than average. The 'Palace Bar' was packed to the rafters tonight, with eight or nine different poker games going, and neither brother had any trouble finding one to their liking. Bart started off at a smaller game than Bret's since he'd spent more than half of his poker stake on a useless (in Bret's mind, at least) piece of property. The way these miners played cards it didn't take him long to win it back, and by the time the saloon started to clear out, around three in the morning, both brothers were well ahead of where they'd started.

The word had spread about the man that had ridden through the Lakota Pass (as it was called) and taken such a liking to the land that he bought it right away from Fenn Atwater. When the miners found out it was Bart that had made the peculiar purchase, they were all eager to play against him and discover just what kind of a card sharp he was. And they soon learned their lesson the hard way. The only thing more deadly than a Maverick that's angry is a Maverick that's pleased. Bart won every hand he played.

"Son, I don't know what you did this afternoon, but whatever it was worked," Bret told him as they smoked outside the Palace. "It's a good thing you weren't doin' the dealin' tonight or there might have been some serious accusations flyin' around that table."

"I didn't do anything but nap," Bart replied. "The cards sure didn't hurt me tonight."

"Nope, that they didn't. Did you ever lose a hand?"

"Not one. It's been a long time since I had a run like that."

Bret blew out smoke and laughed. "So much for a curse bein' on that land. Maybe that'll teach everybody that stories like that are just stories."

"I don't know, Bret. I had the feelin' the whole time I was up there that I was bein' watched."

"That's not good," Bret remarked. "When you get those feelin's you're usually right."

"Yeah, but the only person it coulda been is this Kimimela that Ray told me about last night. According to him, she speaks pretty good English. So why wouldn't she say somethin'? And if it wasn't her, who was it?" Bart's happy mood from earlier had worn a little thin by this time of the night. He took a draw on the cigar and blew out a long trail of smoke.

"Don't know and right now I don't care. We both did good tonight, and that's the important thing."

"Might be the important thing to you but right now the important thing to me is food. I haven't eaten since breakfast. Any ideas?"

"Yeah, let's ask this man," Bret answered as a former poker-mate walked outside. "Hey, Sammy, anyplace to get food in this town before sun up?"

"Sure, Maverick, right up the street at Irma's. She don't open till midnight on Fridays and Saturdays just for the drunks and poker players. Course it can get rowdy some nights, but the grubs good and Irma's good-lookin'. She'd be happy to see two more that can actually pay for a meal," Sammy replied.

"Brother Bart, shall we go visit Irma's?"

"Yes sir, Brother Bret, I believe we should."

XXXXXXXX

Sammy was right; the food was good and Irma was pretty. So was Jeanie, who waited on them and was happy to have someone besides dirty, drunken miners in for a meal. As she refilled their coffee cups, she overheard them talking about the Lakota Pass land and put two and two together. "Okay, so which one of you bought the land?" she finally had to ask.

"I did," Bart replied. "Have you ever been up there?"

"Once," she told him. "It's so beautiful and so cursed. Mr. Atwater did warn you, didn't he?"

"Oh, he warned me alright. Just because he thinks it's cursed doesn't mean it is, ya know."

She shook her head, sorry that someone hadn't told the good-looking man she was waiting on about the rest of the unusual occurrences. "There's more than just Fenn Atwater's stories."

"More? Somebody else has got stories?" Bart asked, seriously.

"Lots and lots," she answered. "Too many to tell you about right now. Ask around, there's plenty of people that know the tales."

"How about you?" Bart questioned. "Do you know all the gossip?"

"Oh sure."

"And if someone were to take you to lunch, you'd be able to tell them?" Jeanie blushed and nodded. "And when do you get off work?"

"At eleven o'clock. But it's closer to twelve noon by the time I actually get out of here."

Bart reached up and took her hand in his. "Miss Jeanie, would you consent to have lunch with me at twelve noon today?"

Jeanie blushed again. "I don't even know your name."

"His name's Bart Maverick," Bret spoke up. "And I can vouch for his character. He's got none."

Jeanie laughed and shook her head. "Mr. Maverick, I'd be right honored to have lunch with you tomorrow – today at noon. You can come get me and we can go to the hotel dining room if that's alright."

"And what he said about me having no character – he's my brother, so he's obligated to lie."

Bret's head bobbed up and down. "Yes ma'am, that's true. Both parts of it. I am his brother and I am obligated to lie."

"Good, then that's settled," Bart told her. "I'll be by at noon to get you. Thank you, Miss Jeanie – "

"Cooper, it's Jeanie Cooper," she informed him. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"An older sister?" Bret asked.

"Sorry, don't have one of those. Anything else?"

"No, ma'am, not until noon."

"You sure you want to hear all the lore about the property? What good will it do, you've already bought it."

Bart looked askance at his brother, who appeared unsure at best. "Of course I want to hear it. All of it. Every last story. You and I both know there's no such thing as curses or witches or ghosts. But somethin's happened up there to make people think there is. So if I've heard all the stories, maybe I can figure out just what's goin' on."

"Alright, makes sense. Glad to see you're bein' practical about all this. But I still wanna know what you're gonna do with it now that you own it."

"I don't know, Bret. When I figure that one out you'll be the first to know."


	6. Ghost Stories

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 6 – Ghost Stories

Jeanie was right on time, twelve o'clock sharp. So was Bart, and he offered his arm to escort her down to the Palace Hotel's dining room. He was eager to hear all the ghost stories and old wives tales that existed about Lakota Pass, and to spend the time with an attractive, intelligent woman. He wasn't disappointed.

"How long have all these stories been circulating?" Bart asked once they'd ordered lunch.

"Oh, years," Jeanie replied. "Since I was a little girl. There're all the standard ghost stories, of course, then there's other things, things that can't be explained away so easily. Like the story about Alice Wilson. Her Ma and Pa came over the pass with a wagon train and got stuck up there in a spring blizzard. Alice was sound asleep in her wagon the last time anybody saw her – and the next morning she was found frozen stiff more than a mile away. And there were tracks leading up to her body of a dog – but there was no dog on any of the wagons. And everybody that saw them swore they weren't wolf tracks."

Bart shrugged – then told Jeanie, "I'm sure there's an explanation. What else?"

"Lots of people have seen lights in the trees after dark when there's nobody up there. No fires, nobody camping, nothing."

"That's nothing, Jeanie."

"Then there's the disappearing horses."

"Oh? What about them?"

"There was a whole herd of mustangs being' driven across the pass when the wranglers camped for the night. More than forty head - with a lookout posted. The whole herd vanished, including the lookout – and left no tracks. None of them were ever found – not even the lookout."

"Forty head?"

"And the lookout."

"No tracks anywhere?"

"None."

Bart took a sip of coffee and shook his head. "Now that I have no explanation for."

"There's two or three more times things like that happened. They've lost cows, sheep. And once even a gold shipment up there. Just vanished, like they were never there."

"That still doesn't prove it's cursed."

"Maybe not, but it sure looks mighty suspicious. And once something disappears up there, it's never seen again. Whether it's a human or an animal, it just vanishes into thin air."

"And there's no other way down off the mountain?"

Jeanie shook her head. "No. More than one person's tried to find another way down. Nobody's found one yet."

"And what about all the ghost stories?"

"All kinds of things and beings been spotted up there. Horses, cows, pigs, dogs, dead people, somebody even saw a whole wagon train that was never there. Everybody that goes up there comes back with stories."

"See, I was up there yesterday. Didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

The girl laughed. "Was that the first time since you bought the land?"

"Yeah," Bart answered. "I intend to keep goin' up there."

"What did you want it for?"

He hesitated to answer her, knowing how foolish he might sound. "I – I really don't know. Maybe to build a cabin. I'm not sure. I just know I had to own it."

"Maybe the spirits that live up there want to see what you're gonna do before they make a move."

"Jeanie, you don't really believe all that stuff, do you?" He couldn't understand how a girl that seemed perfectly reasonable and rational would buy into all the stories and gossip.

"Well, what about the giant flying creatures that have been seen?"

Bart laughed out loud. "Giant flying creatures?"

"You're laughing at me!"

"No, just laughing at giant flying creatures. You mean like a big bird?"

"No, not like a big bird. Something so big and hideous that it scares the life out of you."

"There's no such thing, Jeanie."

"Yes, there is, Bart. People have seen them."

So far he'd heard nothing to be worried about. "Is that it? Is that all there is?"

"Isn't that enough?"

He laughed again. "That's nothing. If that's what scares people around these parts, I feel sorry for them."

"Well, you just wait. Wait until the strange things start happening to you. Then you come back and tell me what's scary and what isn't." Jeanie was upset, and he'd never meant for her to be.

"Jeanie, honey, I just haven't heard anything to get worried over. But I promise to keep an open mind when I go back up there, okay?"

"Hmmmpf. You come talk to me after you've spent a night up there."

"Alright, I will. I'm goin' up there tomorrow. We'll see what happens."

XXXXXXXX

"So, Brother Bart, did she tell you ghost stories and scare you to death?" Bret asked when he came back from his lunch with Jeanie Cooper.

"She didn't tell me anything that I haven't heard about ghosts before," Bart told his older brother. "It's all a lot of hogwash, Bret. Everything she said can be explained away. Well, except for the forty head of horses that disappeared. And I'm sure there's a logical explanation for that."

"Forty head of horses disappeared?" There was a definite tone of disbelief in Bret's voice.

"Forty head and a lookout," Bart explained.

"Don't you think that's just a bit . . . . . odd?"

"Oh, sure," came the reply. "But odd doesn't ghosts and witches and curses make."

"So what are ya gonna do?"

"Play poker tonight and go spend tomorrow up on the mountain."

His brother looked at him skeptically. "You stayin' overnight?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know yet."

"You want me to come along?"

Bart chuckled at the suggestion. "So you can protect me from big birds?"

Even Bret laughed. "Yeah, that does sound kinda silly, doesn't it?"

"No, Bret, I don't need any protection from birds. Or anything else up there, for that matter. I'll be just fine."

' _I certainly hope so,'_ his brother thought.


	7. Go Away

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 7 – Go Away

Another night of poker followed, and Bart's level of play was once again extraordinary. He had all his opponents shaking their heads, wondering just who this stranger was that kept winning everything in sight. He played until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and then retired for the night, leaving his brother at the saloon involved in a tense match of his own.

Bart went back to the hotel, changed clothes and packed for an overnight trip. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he'd spent a night on the land, his own land, and seen any or all of the things that people in the small town told stories about. He left his brother a note explaining to Bret what he was doing and when he'd be back, then went to the livery and saddled Noble.

The morning dawned bright and sunny but on the cold side. Bart once again took his time going to Lakota Pass and turned Noble loose to graze at his leisure once they arrived. This time he went exploring, walking around the entire expanse of the mountain. The last time he'd spent time on a mountain was during the terrible rockslide in the Superstitions, and this investigation was a lot more peaceful than that experience had been. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, but by whom or what he had no idea. It didn't matter, he wanted to discover every square inch of this patch of earth; _his_ patch of earth.

He'd brought his bedroll and matches, so even though it was only mid-day by this time he gathered wood and leaves for a fire and found a spot to make camp. Autumn was closer than summer and the nights had turned chilly and he needed rest, having skipped sleeping last night. Once the fire was started he laid the bedroll down and stretched out, sure that he wasn't yet ready for a nap but more than prepared to relax. He was wrong about the sleep part, and almost as soon as he lay down he was gone.

He slept soundly at first, peacefully and without dreams, but that slowly changed. The longer he stayed asleep the stranger his dreams got until finally they turned into a full-fledged nightmare. One that it wouldn't be easy to forget . . . . . .

 _He was running from something, but what was pursuing him wasn't exactly clear. He just knew that if he stopped he would be killed. He kept running and running, through the woods and trees he'd just explored, until his legs ached and his lungs burned. He had to stop but then he couldn't; Bret's life depended on him, too. Shots were fired all around him, and he felt them sting his arms and legs. He was gasping for breath, then he was choking and coughing as the countryside went up in flames. He heard Bret scream but couldn't tell what direction it came from; the screaming continued and turned into his name being howled in the wind . . . . "Bart! Help me! Bart! Help! Here, Bart!" . . . . . over and over again, until he wanted to scream himself just to drown out the howling inside his brain . . . . . ._

 _Then he could run no more, and he collapsed and slid down the mountain, rolling and tumbling as the rocks scratched, bruised and battered him, the way they had that horrific day in Arizona. And in the distance Bret's screams began to fade, and he knew that his brother was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop plunging down the hillside. When he finally reached the bottom he desperately tried to fight and claw his way back up as everything around him continued to burn; the smoke and heat becoming almost unbearable. Then something inside him broke, and he knew Bret was dead. And somehow it was his fault . . . . . . ._

He woke up in a cold sweat, the nightmare hanging over him like a caldron of boiling oil. Where in the world had that come from, and what did it mean? He shivered, whether from the disturbing dream or the chill in the air, and looked around him. The night was quiet, peaceful and calm, with nothing between him and the stars except the air, and the sweet smell of something burning in the fire. He lay back down, closing his eyes and willing himself back to sleep, and drifted off into another fragile place.

XXXXXXXX

It had been a long, difficult night of poker when the cards seemed to turn on Bret the way they had in Denver. This time he fought his way back out of it, but it had taken all night and most of the morning, and by the time he finally left the 'Palace Bar' he was close to exhaustion. Bart hadn't come back from the journey he'd made outside and Bret assumed him to be asleep in the hotel room, so he had no qualms about stopping in the dining room to eat breakfast. He was ravenous, his appetite always increased when he'd beaten Lady Luck into a corner and taken all her toys.

The climb upstairs to their room was slow; he was more worn out than he'd let himself believe. Quietly he slipped inside the room and was startled to find it empty, save for the note left by his brother _. 'Bret, need to do some investigating on my own. Plan on spending the night up on the pass. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone. Your stubborn brother, Bart.'_

He snorted. Stubborn was certainly the right word for Bart Maverick, but his humor always seemed to shine through that trait. Well, he'd offered to go with Bart just in case they ran across trouble, or an apparition of any kind, and had been politely but firmly refused. So he felt no need to do anything now but what God intended him to do, and that was sleep.

Once he'd removed his coat, tie, vest and boots the turmoil his brother seemed to be in the middle of visited him to see if it could harass him into staying awake for a while. Just what was it that had Bart so all fired up that he'd bought a piece of land? And what a piece of land. It certainly was beautiful, even Bret had to admit that. Why was he so certain it was going to be more trouble than it was worth? What exactly did it mean for the lifestyle they'd embraced ever since they'd been discharged from their stint fighting Indians after the Civil War?

All those questions fired at him like a gunfighter fanning his gun. And to make it worse, he had no answers for any of them. The best thing to do right now, he thought, was just let it all go and sleep. Maybe when he wasn't so tired he'd have some solutions. Maybe. There, that was better. Worry about it later. Just ignore all the issues the land raised and drift off peacefully . . . . . . .

XXXXXXXX

 _Where was he now? Inside a cave somewhere, and he was trapped. He searched frantically around for an exit, a way out, but there was none. The entrance had collapsed and piled boulders that were too big to lift in his way, and there seemed to be no escape. No food, no water, no air. Only death, slow and ghastly, when there was so much life beyond these walls. And then he heard it, a sound like someone digging at the rocks from the other side, trying to clear a way out of the hell hole the cave had become. It grew loud and steady, and finally he could hear the voice on the other side of the rock wall, and he realized it was his brother come to rescue him._

 _But the hours passed and the air grew thin, and he knew there would be no relief, no escape, and that no matter how close Bret was to him there was no more time. He could feel his life slipping away, growing ever more sleepy as the oxygen deserted him like all the women he'd loved. He fought to stay awake, to emerge from the cocoon of death he was being wrapped up in, to come back to the life he didn't want to leave just yet . . . . . . . ._

He opened his eyes in the dark and realized he'd had another terrifying vision. He sat up, throwing more wood and debris on the fire, and shivered in the cold night air. How long had he been asleep? And where were these nightmares coming from? He hadn't dreamt like this in months. He heard something in the bushes and got up quickly to see what it was, but there was nothing visible in the direction the noise had come from. Maybe it had been a bad idea to spend a night out here by himself, defying the spirits that supposedly haunted the place and encouraging them to do their worst. Maybe he should just break camp, saddle Noble and go back to town. Speaking of Noble, where was he?

Bart looked around in all directions but couldn't find his horse? Friend? Companion? What exactly had the gelding come to mean to him? "Noble, where are you?" There was no answer and he yelled this time "Noble!" and heard a faint whinny. Where had the gelding gotten off to? It wasn't at all like him to drift more than a few feet away when Bart was asleep. Finally, the soft 'plop plop plop plop' of hooves could be heard, and in just a few minutes the bay head with the black mane, muzzle and stockings could be seen coming up the road. "What were you doing so far away, old man?" Bart called to the horse, and realized that Noble's attention was fixed on something behind him.

He whirled around suddenly and saw the rapidly disappearing back of a Lakota woman. Out of instinct he called "Kimimela?" and the figure stopped and turned back to face him. She was black-haired and beautiful, with dark brown eyes that glistened in the firelight. She said nothing, merely gazed at him. He spoke again. "You are Kimimela?"

One word, barely audible. "Yes."

"I am Bart. Bart Maverick. I own this land now."

She stared at him, both dispassionately and defiantly. "Lakota owns mountain. Héyabiyaye."

Héyabiyaye – Go away


	8. The Women

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 8 – The Women

"No," he answered quickly. "No héyabiyaye."

"You speak Lakota?" she asked

"Čík'ala," he answered. "That's about all."

She continued to stare at him until she finally pointed to the fire and his bedroll. "You sleep on the ground?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

How was he going to explain his strange fascination to her? "To be with magnificence."

Finally she spoke again. "Why here?"

"It's so beautiful." He stepped back over to his bedroll and sat down. "Join me, Kimimela?"

She walked over to the fire and sat down across from him. "What now?"

"Tell me why you're here?"

"To watch for white man."

"Why would you do that?" He asked her, observing her look around for anyone else that might be there.

"So we know what you are doing."

"Doin'?" he asked. "I'm doin' nothin'."

"Other white men do things. Slaughter buffalo. Try to build on sacred ground. Can not allow."

"Were you watchin' me, too?"

She nodded her head. "You are . . . . . . not like the others."

"What others?" he asked her.

"The men . . . . . they drink. They fight. They kill each other for no reason."

"No, I don't drink. I try not to fight. And I don't kill unless someone tries to kill me first."

She stood up, suddenly. "Kimimela must go now. There are horses coming."

And she disappeared as quickly as she'd appeared. Bart remained by the fire and soon enough two riders came over the crest of the mountain, one of them being Fenn Atwater. The other was a pretty young woman, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, with sandy blonde hair and her father's features.

"See, I told ya he'd be here," Atwater told the girl.

Bart stood and waited as the riders approached. Atwater remained on his horse and a hound dog panted up the mountain behind him. The woman dismounted and walked over, extending her hand to the gambler. "Hi, I'm Sonny Atwater. And you must be Bart Maverick."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it, rather than shaking it. "Yes ma'am, at least I was when I came up here. Pleased to meet you. A little early for you two to be out here, isn't it?"

Atwater shook his head. "We're on our way to Silver City. Sonny wanted to take the long way."

"So I could see just who was foolish enough to buy this land," she added. "We stopped at your hotel room yesterday and your brother said you'd be here."

"So you wanted to see the fool in person, huh?"

"No offense meant, Mr. Maverick," she apologized. "I just can't figure out why anybody in their right mind would want to buy the property after he'd heard all the stories about it."

"Ah, Miss Atwater, you've made the assumption I'm in my right mind."

She laughed, a melodic, lilting laugh. "Aren't you?"

"Probably not," he answered. "Otherwise why would I buy this land?"

"A sense of humor. There's something I don't hear much of in Mystic."

"What do you hear in Mystic?" He asked.

"I hear there's a dance at the Social Club on Friday night."

He laughed now. "Mystic has a Social Club?"

Sonny shook her head. "No. They sweep all the dirt out of Stafford's barn on Friday morning and put down new hay."

"Miss Atwater, would you allow me to escort you to the dance at the Social Club on Friday?"

"Only if you call me Sonny."

"Turn about," he said. "It's Bart, remember?"

"Six o'clock at the ranch?"

"It will be my pleasure." He tipped his hat to her as she mounted her horse. "Until Friday, Sonny."

She nodded back. "Bart."

Sonny and Fenn Atwater rode east down the mountain. The hound dog panted fearlessly behind. _'That was interesting,'_ thought Bart. _'I wonder what Kimimela thought of it?'_

He threw dirt on the fire and put it out, then gathered his bedroll and repacked it behind his saddle. He picked up his horses reins and addressed himself directly to the animal. "Noble, you ready to go? I think I've had enough for one night." He turned and spoke into the trees. "Good night, Kimimela. Or good morning, whichever you prefer."

She watched him from her vantage point hidden in the brush. "Good-night, Bart Maverick," she whispered.

XXXXXXXX

"Well, well, well, the prodigal returns home. Any the worse for wear?" Bret looked like he'd just gotten out of bed.

'Happy to see you, too, Brother Bret," he laughed as he slapped his brother on the back. "Did ya miss me?"

"Were you gone somewhere?" Bret asked mischievously. "No wonder it was so quiet. Did you meet any of the spirits that live up on your mountain?"

"Nope," Bart answered. "Never saw anything, never heard anything. Except for our Indian maiden, Kimimela."

"So she is real?" Bret asked.

"Oh yeah, she's real. And a real beauty, too. We talked for a few minutes before my visitors arrived."

"Visitors?"

"Fenn Atwater and his daughter Sonny came up there on their way to Silver City. Did you know there's a dance Friday night at the Social Club?"

"Social Club? In this town?"

"Yes and no. Seems they hold it in the Stafford barn, wherever that is. And I'm takin' Sonny Atwater to the dance."

"You're what?"

"Goin' to the dance on Friday."

"Aha. Who are you? First you buy property. Now you're goin' to a dance. Where is my brother?"

"Look, Bret, I know that I've been doin' some rather . . . . uh, peculiar things. Just go along with me for the time bein', okay? Whatever it is, I'll get it all worked out." Bart wasn't quite sure what was going on inside his head himself, and the strange nightmares he'd had didn't help any. That's one of the reasons he hadn't told his brother about them.

"Sure, Brother Bart, anything I can do to help? You know I just want what's best for you."

Bart shook his head. "I know you do, but I gotta work all this out myself. Whatever it is. Alright?"

"Sure, sure. Maybe I can find somebody to take myself on Friday. Might be kinda fun."

"Thanks, Bret. Say, you had breakfast yet?"

"Nope," his brother answered. "I was just about to go downstairs. Come with?"

"You bet. I'm buyin'."

"I'm starvin'," Bret answered.

"That's nothin' new!" Bart laughed.

"Čík'ala" = small

Héyabiyaye – Go away


	9. What Was That?

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 9 – What Was That?

Life was quiet and peaceful for two days, the way it usually was when they spent more than a night or two in a town. They played poker at night and slept most of the day, and normal patterns reasserted themselves. The weather took a turn for colder temperatures. Leaves dropped from the trees. Rain fell and threatened snow. By Wednesday Bart was restless again and told Bret he had to go out, and his brother assumed it was to go back up to see his new mistress, Lakota Pass. Bart didn't deny it, knowing that he felt the need to be there again.

This time he took a book with him, curious to stay awake and see what happened during the daytime. Of course he didn't expect anything to happen, but he wore his gun just in case. Once again he unsaddled Noble and turned the gelding loose to graze at will and spent time gathering wood for a fire. He found more of the leaves and flowers that he'd unintentionally burned in his first fire, the one's that had emitted such a sweet, pleasing scent, and included them with the firewood. He found a different spot to build a fire and got one started, then settled down to do some uninterrupted reading.

He was doing just that when the wind shifted, and smoke from the fire drifted towards him instead of away from him. Almost instantly he became dizzy and disoriented, and he couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. He rubbed his eyes and blinked but the spinning his head had begun got worse instead of better. He put the book down and staggered to his feet, attempting to get away from whatever was attacking his senses. That's when he saw them.

Jeanie had told him of _"something so big and hideous that it scares the life out of you,"_ and that's exactly what was flying overhead. Twenty or thirty of the dark creatures, with wingspans of ten feet or more, and repulsive bald heads that were gray, yellow or orange. They made no sound but blackened the sky and seemed to fly around him in circles for a few minutes. They dipped and swirled in the air, and Bart became convinced they were going to kill him and rip the flesh from his bones. He screamed and fell to the ground, covering his head with his hands and arms, and waited for the attack that never came. He laid there for minutes before realizing they were gone. He slowly opened his eyes but the daylight had vanished, and all he could see was threatening black clouds and flashes of lightning.

Then he began to hear voices, speaking in some kind of language he'd never heard before and didn't understand. There were one, two, three, four, five different voices, babbling, arguing, threatening, and he was filled with terror. Suddenly he could identify them, and understand them, and he knew they were coming to get him and destroy him. Edgar Pike and Travis Cole and Frank Hook and Donnie Monroe and the nameless cowboy in Tucson, and they all wanted only one thing – Bart Maverick's hide.

He tried to scramble to his feet, to run and get away from the murderous rage he felt all around him, but his legs refused to work and the only thing he was capable of doing was curling up in a ball like a child and waiting for the deadly blows to fall on him. And then the babbling and bellowing was gone, and the renewed sounds of crashing thunder invaded his consciousness, and he had to cover his head and ears to stave off the cacophony of the raging storm.

Hours later he sensed something nuzzling his head and neck and recognized it as Noble, checking to see why his master was laying on the ground, unmoving. He had vague memories of monsters and horrible specters chasing him and doing everything within their power to harm him or his psyche, he wasn't sure which, and he was exhausted and drained of energy and spirit.

Groggily he tried to sit up and clear his head, but he felt as if someone had drugged him. His head hurt, his back ached, and his muscles were cramped and stiff. He shook his head and everything seemed distorted and blurry, and it took minutes before his vision cleared enough to see that it was almost nightfall. He'd been out here for hours and remembered none of it. The fire had burned itself out and it was colder than it had been when he first arrived. He shivered and pulled his jacket closed, reaching for his hat to put it back on his head where it belonged. Noble whinnied and Bart looked up at the horse, not quite sure what he expected to see or hear.

He was finally able to gather his legs underneath him and stand, shakily, grabbing Noble's bridle to help steady himself. "What was that?" he whispered into the gelding's neck, and his stomach rolled with a cross between nausea and hunger. He checked the fire to make sure it was indeed dead, then proceeded to saddle his horse as best he could in the debilitated state he was in. The gelding stood without moving, sensing that something wasn't right with his owner and instinctively remaining still to aid the man that leaned on him for support.

Bart pulled himself up in the saddle with difficulty and nudged Noble into motion without being fully seated. The book he'd been reading was forgotten in his need to leave this place and return to town, and a pair of dark brown eyes watched with interest as he rode slowly and erratically down the road. The pale skins all reacted differently on the sacred mountain, but one thing was the same for all of them. They all fled. Best to wait and see if this one returned.

XXXXXXXX

His vision was clearer by the time he reached Mystic, but he wasn't sure his head was. He had no earthly idea of what had happened out on the mountain, and he had no intention of telling Bret or anyone else. That left him to try and figure it out for himself.

Something out of the ordinary had occurred, that's for sure. But what? And what caused it? He'd been sitting there peacefully reading when all of a sudden the world turned upside down. He felt like he'd been beaten by somebody, but he knew that was impossible. And what caused the blackout? Because that's certainly what it was. He hadn't been asleep, and he hadn't been unconscious. But he had lost several hours' worth of time, and he had no idea why.

When he got back to the hotel, Bret was finishing dressing for the night. His brother was just tying his string tie in the mirror, and he watched Bart's reflection as he finished. The younger man must have looked terrible, considering the way Bret stared at him.

"I thought you were only gonna be gone for a couple hours."

"Sorry. I fell asleep while I was reading."

"What's wrong? You look like somebody just beat the hell out of you. Did they?"

"Tripped over a rock and fell," Bart answered. He hoped that Bret was in enough of a hurry to not ask any more questions, and for a minute it looked like he might be. Then his brother turned around and looked straight at him, and didn't believe anything that Bart had just told him.

"What happened, Bart? What happened up on that damn mountain?"

Bart sat down on the bed, thoroughly confused and with no desire to discuss any of it. "Can we just – can we just let it go for now? I just want to go play poker and not think."

Bret didn't want to let it go, he wanted to know what happened. He also knew that if he pushed Bart too hard his brother would never discuss whatever had occurred. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

Bret walked over and took hold of his brother's arm. "Come on, let's go have dinner."

It was the easiest way out. "Alright," Bart agreed.

They went down to the dining room in silence. When the waitress came over to take their order, Bret took charge. "Two steaks – one well done, one rare. And a bottle of red wine. You do have wine, don't you?"

"Yes sir," she answered. "One glass or two?"

"Two glasses," he answered as Bart stared at him.

In just a minute she reappeared with the glasses and the wine. Bret poured each of them a glass and Bart continued to stare at his brother. Bret drinking a glass of wine with him was almost as confusing as the things that had happened that afternoon.

Bart took a sip and found the wine dark and rich and sweet, very much like the wine that Gage Stanhope kept at the ranch in Arizona. Bret followed suit and actually smiled. 'Say, that's not like drinkin' whiskey, is it?"

"Nope, " the younger Maverick answered. "Why are you drinkin' that?"

"Because, Brother Bart, you looked like you needed somethin' to bring you back to Mystic. I don't know where you were, but it wasn't here. And it seemed a bad idea to let you drink alone. What happened out there today?"

"Nothin' that I can make any sense of."

"Then tell it to me just the way you remember it."

For the next few minutes Bart related everything that he could recall, just the way it happened. When the steaks came he continued talking until he finally reached the part where Noble brought him back with a nuzzle. Bret sat with rapt attention and listened to every word, never once criticizing his brother's preferred method of eating beef. "It felt like I'd been drugged, Bret. I don't know how long I lay there, or what went on while I did. It's the strangest thing that's ever happened to me."

"Did you see the Indian girl?"

"Kimimela? No."

"And you didn't eat or drink anything while you were there?"

"Not a thing. This is the first I've had since breakfast this mornin', and we ate the same thing."

Bret speared the last piece of meat with his fork. "And you never saw anybody else?"

"No." Bart looked as perplexed as he had when he first walked through the hotel room door.

"I could make a lot of jokes at your expense, and we'd have a good laugh. But I won't do that, Bart. This is serious and there has ta be an explanation. You're goin' back up there . . . . . . and I'm goin' with you."


	10. Edgar Allan Poe

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 10 – Edgar Allen Poe

"Oh, no sir, I'm not goin' back up there."

"I'll go with you," Bret told him.

"Why, so somethin' strange can happen to you, too?"

"So we can figure out what's goin' on."

"I don't wanna go back out there tomorrow, Bret. I want to digest this first. I need a couple days."

"You don't wanna go out the day of the dance, do you?"

Bart gave that a minutes thought. "Well, no." He tried to reason with his brother then. "Let's wait until Saturday."

"Why put it off another two days?"

Bart hated it when Bret made sense. "Alright. That seems logical, I guess."

"Look, we don't hafta go play poker tonight. We can skip it, get up early and go out there. It's up to you."

Bart hesitated for a minute before making up his mind. "You go ahead and play. I just wanna lay down and think for a while. If that's okay with you."

"Sure," Bret nodded. "I can do that." He poured Bart another glass of wine. "Drink that. It'll do you good. I'm goin' over to the Palace. Catch ya later, Brother Bart."

"Alright, Brother Bret. Thanks." Bart picked up the glass and drank as Bret paid the bill and left for the saloon. He sat for a few minutes, finishing the wine before going back to their room. As he undressed for bed the day's events played over again in his head, and he still couldn't find any answers. He turned out the light and lay on the bed, in the dark, and kept trying to remember what happened when he 'blacked out,' but nothing came to him. Sooner than expected he closed his eyes and fell asleep, and the slumber was peaceful and soothing, unlike the last sleep he'd experienced.

XXXXXXXX

They rode out early, headed up to Lakota Pass, even though Bret hadn't been to bed yet. After a very productive night at the tables he wasn't in the least bit tired, and Bart was ready to go and see what happened today. They spent most of the journey with Bart silent and thoughtful and Bret bubbling over with the success of his poker playing. Things had certainly turned around for him since the stay in Denver.

Bart found the spot of yesterday's camp, and his book was just where he'd left it. Bret built a fire, Bart made a pot of coffee, and they settled in to see what transpired. They'd been on the mountain about an hour when Bart heard something in the bushes and assumed it to be Kimimela.

She didn't show herself and Bart finally called "Kimimela, come on out. This is my brother Bret." The rustling in the brush started again and soon the beautiful Lakota woman emerged from the undergrowth.

"Brother of Bart?" she asked shyly, staying almost ten feet away from them.

"Yes, ma'am. Brother of Bart. Would you like some coffee?"

"The hot black liquid you are so fond of?"

Bart nodded. "That's right, the black liquid we're so fond of."

She shook her head. "No, it is vile." She looked over at Bret. "You come up here too?"

Bret raised his hands. "Just to see what's goin' on."

"Spirits," she answered. "Very unhappy with the intru . . . . . intru . . . . .interruptions."

Bret watched her walk closer to Bart and sit cross-legged on the cold earth. "Don't you get cold without a fire?" he asked.

"Cold is acceptable. Are you going to break ground on the mountain?"

The older brother almost laughed at her directness. "No, Kimimela, I'm not." Bart was right, she was certainly beautiful.

"Are you always here, Kimimela?" Bart asked her.

"I live here," she replied. "This is my duty to the tribe." She turned to Bret. "You have no job either?"

"I have a profession," Bret answered her. "The same as my brother's."

"What is that?"

"We're poker players."

She curled her lips in disdain. "Men who cheat at card games."

"No, Kimimela," Bart interjected. "We don't cheat. We're honest gamblers."

"Gamblers cheat."

"That's like saying Indians kill in cold blood."

"But that is not true!" She took offense at the statement.

"Neither is what you said about gamblers."

She seemed to be pondering the concept that her belief about gamblers was wrong. "That may be true. You see things from a different side, make me see them from that side too. I was right. You are tókeka."

"Tókeka?" Bret asked.

"Different," Bart answered.

"Is that good or bad?" Bret wondered.

"Good. Not like others."

"How do you spend your time up here, Kimimela?"

"Many things. I stay busy." She stopped, listening for something the brothers couldn't yet hear. "Men coming. I go now. Good-bye, Mavericks." She bounded to her feet and was gone before either of them could say anything. Bart drew his gun and set it on his lap.

In just a few minutes three horses came over the ridge, two carrying riders and the third a pack animal. The men looked like miners, their clothes old and well-worn; their horses had seen better days. They passed by without saying anything, looking either half-asleep or half-drunk, and were soon out of sight, but Kimimela didn't return.

Bret picked up the book that Bart had left in his haste the previous day and took a good look at it. _'Tales_ _by Edgar Allan Poe'_ was not something he'd ever seen Bart with before. "Reading something besides Dickens?"

"Yeah, Mary Clennon gave it to me. It's quite . . . . . . different."

"What's it about?" Bret asked.

"Stories of the supernatural . . . . . horror stories. Very creative writin'. Fascinatin' characters. Poe was an excellent writer but seems very disturbed."

Bret shook his head. "That doesn't sound like somethin' that would interest you."

"It's the way they're written. They're different, that's for sure." He took the book from Bret and walked over to the horses. "Maybe that's what spooked me yesterday." He put the book in his saddlebags. "Let's go back to town, Bret. You need to rest and I've got somethin' to do. Alright with you?"

Bret nodded, wondering if Bart had simply fallen asleep and his reading material influenced his dreams. "Sure. I could use a nap." He was already on his feet, emptying the rest of the coffee pot into the fire and making sure it was out. They both mounted and rode on down the trail, having gotten no more answers than they had before they started. Something odd was going on with Bart, but right now didn't seem like the time to pursue finding out what it was. After the dance, Bret told himself.


	11. Dances and Truths

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 11 – Dances and Truths

Fenn Atwater opened the door at six o'clock on Friday night and whistled. "Bart Maverick. I see the mountain hasn't gotten you yet. Come on in. You and Sonny will be the best-looking pair at the dance, that's for sure."

Bart laughed and walked inside with a bouquet of beautiful wildflowers. "I'd give these to you Fenn, but they're too pretty for you."

"They're just right for me," Sonny Atwater giggled as she came down the stairs. "Somehow I knew you'd be early."

Maverick laughed again and presented the flowers to her. "They pale in comparison," he told her, and it was no exaggeration. With her hair swept up in a knot and her eyes sparkling, she was a beautiful girl. She wore a cream-colored dress with black trim and she shown as a rare jewel in it. Bart had on his black frock coat and ruffled shirt, and they made a striking pair.

"You clean up right well, Mr. Maverick," Sonny told him while accepting the flowers.

"So do you, Miss Atwater," Bart replied, as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Just remember who's bringing you to this thing and don't spend the night dancing with all the other men."

"Yes, sir. That means you dance, doesn't it?" She smiled at the thought.

"I do indeed," he answered. "Do you have a wrap? It's gotten quite chilly outside."

Fenn returned to the room with a black shawl over his arm. "I thought you'd need this."

Bart took the shawl from her father and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Just in case you get cold, we'll sit close."

Sonny laughed and put her arm through his. "That sounds like fun."

"Get along, you two," Atwater told them. "Enjoy yourselves."

Bart helped her into the buggy and went around the other side to get in. "Your father seems to be in a good mood."

"He's just happy that I'm going to the dance."

"Didn't you have men beating down the door to take you?"

Sonny laughed that lilting laugh. "You've played poker against the men in Mystic. Would you go out with them?"

"No, but they're not my type. You, however, are."

"So you have your answer." They drove on for a few minutes before she spoke again. "Been back up to Lakota Pass?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"And?" she asked, waiting to see what kind of an answer she'd get.

"Nothing happened," he answered, determined not to play into the folklore surrounding the land.

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed." He looked at her face but couldn't read her expression.

Her tone was serious when she answered him. "Be careful, Bart. There's something strange up there. I know that about half of the things that happen can be explained one way or another, but there's still some things there's no accounting for."

"Such as?"

"Those birds, for one thing. More than one person's seen them, and only up on the mountain." Bart shivered, having seen them himself. "Cold?" Sonny asked.

"Just a little chilled. Hope the barn's toasty tonight."

They drove on, and when they got close to town Sonny asked, "Are you planning on staying in Mystic?"

"I really don't know at this point," Bart answered her. "This is all new to me."

"Me too," she replied and huddled closer to him. Bart pulled up at the Stafford's and tied the horses to the hitching rail in front. There were six or seven buggies and several horses at various spots close to the barn, and music could be heard. Bart saw the carriage that Bret had gotten from the livery and assumed his quest to take Jeanie Cooper to the dance had been successful.

He helped Sonny down from the buggy and escorted her inside. The band was set up on a little stage made from crates and consisted of a guitar player, a fiddle player, a drummer and a singer. At the moment, a square dance was being played and the vocalist was calling out the commands. "Dancers pass through. Trade by. Dancers wheel and deal."

Bart saw Bret on the other side of the floor and he and Sonny walked around the square dancers. Surprise – Brother Bret was with Irma and not Jeanie. "Well, Miss Irma, you actually consented to comin' with my brother?" Bart asked laughingly.

"It was real easy, Mr. Maverick. He asked me," Irma smiled back. She was pretty in the kitchen at her café but even prettier in a Friday-night-party-dress, and Bret looked quite pleased.

"Better call him Bart, Irma, before he hands you his line about lookin' for Pappy when somebody says Mr. Maverick," Bret suggested.

"Sonny Atwater, this is my brother; my older brother, Bret," Bart explained. "Brother Bret, Fenn Atwater's daughter, Sonny."

Bret bowed since his hat was currently not on his head. "Miss Sonny, you could have had the pick of the litter. Why'd you come with this hound?"

Sonny winked at Irma. "It was real easy, Mr. Maverick. He asked me." Sonny and Irma burst out laughing and the men joined in.

The square dance finished and the band started playing 'The Fascination Waltz.' Bart took Sonny's hand in his and led her out on what served as the dance floor. They waltzed together beautifully.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" she asked him quite seriously.

"Yes, ma'am, I've been known to have one or two up my sleeve."

"Where did you learn to waltz?"

"That's a family secret, but I'll tell you. I learned in the Confederate Army."

She pulled back and looked at him with mirth in her eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Yes I am," he told her. "Ask my brother if you don't believe me. He's the one that taught me."

"How old were you?"

"Just a kid. It was something we did to stay alive when we were in Camp Douglas."

"Where was that?" she asked.

"In Chicago. Then we joined the Union Army as Galvanized Yankees and fought Indians for two years."

"You and your brother got to stay together?"

Bart nodded and pulled Sonny closer as they danced. "Yeah, we were lucky. Enough about me. Tell me about Sonny Atwater."

"Not much to tell, really. Mama died of the fever and daddy raised me. Taught me to ride, rope, brand cattle, bale hay, and cook steak."

"What did he teach you about men?" Bart asked as he brushed her ear with his lips.

"He taught me to watch out for the quiet ones."

The song ended and Bart held onto her. "What if I did stay in Mystic?"

"Then I'd be very happy." They broke apart at last and he walked her back over to the refreshments table.

"They don't doctor the punch, do they?" he asked in all seriousness.

"No, why?"

"Because I don't drink. Except for an occasional glass of wine. But whiskey – no."

Sonny looked at him, surprise on her face. "You don't? Really?"

"I don't. Neither does Bret. You can't drink and play poker successfully. And neither of us likes the taste. So, Miss Sonny, some punch?"

"Yes, please."

He poured a cup and handed it to her. "What's your full name?"

She blushed. "Don't laugh."

"I won't."

"Sonnet Alexandra Atwater."

"Sonnet? Like Shakespeare?"

"You know Shakespeare?"

"Not very well. But 'Sonnet' is pretty. Your dad call you Sonny?"

"Yes. What's yours?"

"Bartley Jamison Maverick."

"Bartley Jamison. Very elegant, Mr. Maverick."

"Thank you, Miss Atwater. They're playing another waltz. Would you like to?"

She handed him her cup and he set them both on the table. They went again to the dance floor.

Bret and Irma had been talking about coffee and why some of it tasted so bitter when he saw Bart and Sonny Atwater on the dance floor again. He grinned to himself. He'd tried to teach Bart to dance for months when they were in the Yankee prisoner of war camp and the young man insisted he'd never have occasion to dance. Finally Bret convinced him it would help to pass the time, and Bart had given in and become his pupil. Bart and Sonny made a beautiful couple, and he was pleased to see his brother looking relaxed and happy.

XXXXXXXX

They were riding back from the dance and Bart was just finishing telling Sonny another story. "So that's when I fell in."

"In your good suit?"

"Yes, ma'am. Pappy threatened to beat the livin' daylights outta me, but he was laughin' so hard he couldn't catch me," Bart finished. "Sonny, there's somethin' I need to tell you. Is there someplace we could sit and talk for a few minutes?"

"Go on down to the end of this road and turn left instead of right. It'll take us to a little cove by Phantom Lake. It's quiet down there."

They took the left turn and found the cove with no trouble. He pulled the buggy to a few feet from the edge of the water and tied the reins up, then turned to Sonny. "I lied to you earlier this evenin' and I'm sorry that I did. I thought I had a good reason at the time, but I didn't. I was just too embarrassed to admit the truth."

"You sound so serious. What is it?"

"When I told you I hadn't seen anything at Lakota pass. I did see somethin', Sonny. The birds. I saw the birds. I've never seen anything like them before. There were other things, too, but that's the one that scared the life outta me. I saw the birds."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I don't believe they're real. They were a hallucination of some sort. They had to be. But I need to know what caused it, and I won't be satisfied until I do. Bret went back up there with me the next day, but nothin' happened. I'm goin' up there tomorrow, and I'm not comin' back down until I know just what causes 'em."

"Don't, Bart. Don't go up there. There's something evil up there, and I don't want it to get hold of you." She leaned in to him then, and kissed him with warm, soft lips; he kissed her back and put his arms around her and pulled her to him. He liked this girl – she was warm, and tender, with a bawdy sense of humor and fearlessness about life. He kissed her again and pulled her shawl up tight around her, then leaned down and picked up the reins, chucking softly to the horses and heading back towards her father's house.

They drove in silence until he reached her door, then climbed down to help her out of the buggy. "Will you come by after you leave Lakota Pass? Please?"

"Yes," he whispered softly, then kissed her on the cheek. "Good-night, Sonny."

"Good-night, Bart," she answered before walking inside and closing the door behind her. He went back out and got in the buggy, remembering her words as he headed back to town _. "Don't go up there. There's something evil up there, and I don't want it to get hold of you."_ Was she right? There was only one way to find out.


	12. Broken

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 12 – Broken

Bret was still asleep when Bart left for Lakota Pass the next morning. He decided a different book might be less suggestive, and exchanged the volume of Poe for a book of Jules Verne's, _'The Mysterious Island.'_ He left the Edgar Allan Poe on the dresser and slipped out before his brother woke. Bart was determined to find out just what the delusions up on the mountain meant, no matter what it took. Even his brother's wrath.

The weather had done nothing but get colder, and he brought an extra blanket with him. He dissected the dance mentally as he rode, it being the first real diversion he'd had in a while that was just plain fun. There was more to Sonny Atwater than he'd expected; she was exciting and interesting and beautiful, and he was more attracted to her than he'd at first been willing to admit. What surprised him the most was his opening up to her about the events on the mountain. He divulged things to her that he hadn't told his brother, and he had only a vague idea why. There was some measure of doubt and concern in Bret's attitude and face that didn't sit well with him, and he had no intention of sharing anything else that he didn't have to.

He picked a different spot to build a fire and went about the task of gathering wood and leaves to burn before he settled down for what might be a long stay. He'd brought the coffee pot with him again, and some store-bought biscuits, and made himself a breakfast of sorts. There was no sign of Kimimela, and he wondered if she'd gone into Mystic for supplies.

Noble was happy to be free of his saddle, but Bart kept him tethered to a nearby tree so that he wouldn't have to wonder what had happened to his horse this time. He used the saddle as a backrest and settled down to read, eat and wait.

The morning passed quickly and he found himself genuinely enjoying the new book. It was an exciting and different story, and easy to get lost in. So easy that he hadn't noticed the clouds that had started to gather overhead, or the wind that blew and swirled around him. And then without any kind of warning the same feeling of dizziness and confusion swept over him, and he dropped his book and fell back against Noble's saddle, and his will was no longer his own.

He shook his head and was even more confused than before. Why was it dark, when just moments ago it had been daylight? And when had it gotten so cold, like it was fall one moment and winter the next? A mist rose from the earth and it began to churn and twist into shapes and figures, and finally into the form of a woman. And not just any woman. Drifting down the road on the wind was his mother, exactly the way he remembered her and clear as day. The sight of her both terrified and thrilled him. She came ever closer, until he reached out for her and a loud sob of "Momma" escaped his lips. As soon as his fingers touched hers she vanished, and he collapsed in a soggy heap, all traces of the grown man disappeared. He was five years old again, only now he understood what it meant to lose her a second time. All the hurt and pain of the past years descended on him in one fell swoop, and he was certain he would break into little pieces if he couldn't see her again.

In the dark and gloom another silhouette rose from the mist, and this one could do even more harm to the gambler. He watched the specter take shape even as his mind raced ahead and grasped what the very sight of her would do to his mental stability – and then she was there, in front of him, calling to him to join her, and he didn't care whether he held onto his sanity or not. The ghostly vision in front of him was his dead wife, Caroline Crawford.

XXXXXXXX

When Bret finally woke up it was mid-morning, and he stretched and yawned before rolling over to see if Bart was awake yet. Last night had been different for both of them, and it was pleasantly enjoyable, so he wasn't prepared for what he found in bed – a note. _'Dear Bret – I've gone back to the mountain. I have to know what's causing my hallucinations; there must be a reason that we've overlooked. I'm staying until I find answers. Please let me work this out without interference. Bart.'_

"Damn it, Bart," he said out loud, "it's not interference. I'm trying to help." He rolled out of bed and reached for his pants, then thought better of it. _'Alright, Brother Bart, if you're so adamant about working this out for yourself, go right ahead and do it. I'll look at this from another angle.'_ Then he saw the book that had been on the mountaintop, and in Bart's saddlebags, and now sat on the table by the bed. _'Tales by Edgar Allan Poe.'_

He reached for the book, determined to exhaust all possibilities, even the ones that Bart hadn't or wouldn't consider. He started reading, and the more he delved into the dark, dank world of Poe's tales the more he believed they were the nightmares that had informed his brother's own. And once he'd read _'The Tell-Tale Heart,'_ he was positive he'd discovered the inspiration for the terrifying visions. He stopped reading and put the book back where he'd found it. It was even hard for him to shake off the sense of foreboding that Poe's work inspired, and he'd been through nowhere near as much mental anguish as Bart in the last few years.

That's when he got up and dressed, finally going down to the dining room to get food of some kind. He'd abide by Bart's wishes, and see if the younger Maverick could work things out alone, but he'd be ready to step in with his own theories and ideas if that failed. That's where he was when Sonny Atwater rushed in, looking for Bart, he assumed. She came over to his table as soon as she saw him.

"Does this mean he went up to Lakota Pass?" she asked while sitting down at his table.

"Yep, that's exactly what it means," he answered. "He left me a note. Said he wasn't comin' down until he got some answers. Wait, how did you know he'd gone?"

"Last night when he took me home," she told his brother. "He admitted he hadn't told either of us the complete truth and he was going up there to get it. Bret, somethings not right up there. I asked him not to go, but he wouldn't listen. How long has he been gone?"

"I don't know, Sonny, I just woke up a while ago and he was missing. What do you mean somethin's not right up there? It's just a mountain, for heaven's sake!"

"No, it's more than that. Whatever's up there is mean, and evil. And if he intends to find out what it's all about, it won't let him. I'm really afraid for him, Bret. I'm going up there after him, whether he likes it or not. Will you come with me?"

"He's never gonna forgive either one of us, you know," he told her.

"I don't care," was Sonny's answer. "He'll be alive to be mad at us, and that's alright with me."

Bret considered the options for a minute or two. He knew that Bart would be really upset if Bret ignored his wishes and went after him. But what if Sonny was right, and there was something going on that none of them understood, and Bart was really in danger? No, that was just too ridiculous for words. But what if it wasn't?

"Alright," he told her at last. "Let's go."

XXXXXXXX

There she stood, right in front of him, just the way she looked the day he lost her. Happy in the unexpected joy and comfort they'd found in each other's arms for the first and only time the night before, just as beautiful and radiant as he'd ever seen her. "Mrs. Maverick," he whispered, and reached out for her. She didn't disappear, just drifted out of his reach and beckoned him to follow her. And he did. How could he not? He'd chased her for years, sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, and she'd finally come back to him. He pursued her on foot down the road, never quite reaching her but inching closer all the time.

He could hear her voice, touch her skin, taste her lips. No woman would ever measure up to her, and he was destined to search for her until the end of his days. And she was right here, right in front of him, calling to him and beckoning him to join her. He followed her off the road, through the tall grasses and underbrush, right to the edge of the mountain, and she drifted out into the air. Hurry, he was losing her, hurry! Follow her out into the ether, over the edge where he could spend eternity with her, hurry, catch her, hurry!

XXXXXXXX

Sonny and Bret got to Lakota Pass as fast as any two people on horseback could get there. They hurried up the trail, reaching the top in just a few minutes. Once there they found the remains of Bart's campsite, with cold coffee and a dead fire; Noble's saddle and Bart's bedroll on the ground, Noble tethered to a tree. And no sign of the missing Maverick.

Bret dismounted and followed his brother's tracks, meandering back down the road, finally venturing off into the brush along the edge of the cliff that ran down the length of the hill. That's where he lost them, so he kept going to the very periphery of the mountain, and leaned out over the bluff and its twenty foot or more drop. At the very bottom of the hill, still and silent, lay the body of his brother.


	13. Into the Abyss

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 13 – Into the Abyss

Bret took the quickest way back down the incline; running, skidding, and sliding all the way to the bottom. He knew Sonny was behind him, but he didn't wait for her. It was his brother lying at the foot of the hill without moving.

By the time he reached Bart he feared the worst - his own heart was beating so wildly he almost couldn't breathe. He'd seen no movement all the way down, and the first thing he did was feel for a pulse. It took him a minute to find one; when he did it was weak and thready. Bart was lying face down on the ground and Bret turned him over as gently as he could. He was breathing broken, shallow gasps of air and Bret wondered if his lung was once again damaged. Sonny got there soon after and while Bret cradled his brother in his arms, she poured water from the canteen she'd grabbed onto a handkerchief and wiped down the unconscious man's face. "He's alive," Bret told her, and she nodded.

"What do you think happened?" she asked, wondering if Bret had come to the same conclusion she had. Bart had gone off the cliff, whether accidentally or not, and fallen or tumbled to the bottom.

"I don't know," Bret answered, "but this sure isn't a delusion. This is real."

Sonny kept wiping Bart down and slowly he started to come around. "Bart, can you hear me? It's Sonny. Wake up, Bart."

The unconscious man stirred, then moaned, and without opening his eyes whispered "Caroline?"

The girl looked at Bret for an explanation. "Who's Caroline?"

Bret glanced up and gave her an answer, but not one she expected. "His wife. She was killed years ago." He looked back down at his brother. "Bart, son, it's your brother. Talk to me."

Another moan, followed by a violent coughing spasm and a loud groan. Bart grabbed for the ribs on his left side and his eyes opened. "Bret."

'That's me, little brother. What happened?"

Another whisper. "Caroline's gone?"

"She wasn't here, Bart. Caroline's dead. She has been for years. Remember? Lon Tenley shot her."

Bart's eyes closed again. "Oh."

"No, no, Bart, stay with me. Tell me what's wrong."

"My ribs. Think they're broken. Can't breathe."

"Bart, it's Sonny. What happened? How did you go off the cliff?"

His voice barely above a whisper, Bart tried to answer. "Caroline. Had to catch Caroline."

Bret shifted his hold on his brother slightly and Bart moaned, in obvious pain. "Bart, Caroline wasn't here. She's dead."

He tried to shake his head. "No. Here. With me. Saw her. Followed her."

Bret stared at Sonny. "He saw her and followed her? Right off the cliff?" He looked back down at his brother. "Bart we've gotta get you back to town. Can you ride?"

Bart's eyes stayed closed, but he muttered, "Sure."

"Sonny, stay here with Bart so I can get the horses. Noble MIGHT let me saddle him."

Sonny wiped Bart's face down again. "Of course."

"Bart, I'm gonna put you back down, Sonny's gonna stay here while I go get the horses. Alright?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

Bret took off his jacket and rolled it up, putting it under Bart's head for support. "I'll be right back. Take care of him, Sonny."

"I will." She turned her attention back to Bart, and as soon as Bret was gone she asked, "Was she a spirit, Bart? A ghost? Did they send her to get you?"

"Sent Momma . . . . . . first. Then Caro . . . . Caroline." He opened his eyes. "She . . . . wasn't here, was she?"

Sonny shook her head. "No honey, your Caroline wasn't here. Where do you hurt? Anyplace besides your ribs?"

He let out a sigh. "Everywhere."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Just . . . . . readin' . . . . then nothin'." Bart closed his eyes again. "Why?"

"I don't know, honey. I don't know why anything happens on this mountain. Did you see the Indian girl up here today?"

"Kimimela? No."

"Do you want some water before Bret gets back?" There was no answer, and she took a good, hard look at Bart. He appeared to be unconscious again. That was dangerous since she suspected he had a concussion. "Bart? Bart, honey, wake up." She hated to do it, but she shook him slightly.

"Huh? What?" he answered, without opening his eyes again.

She heard the horses coming and knew Bret would be back soon. She shook Bart again. "Honey, wake up, please. Open your eyes."

Bart did, briefly, and saw her for the first time since they'd found him. "Sonny." He smiled at her weakly. "You were right. Shouldn't have come up . . . . .here."

Bret arrived with her horse and Noble in tow. "Bart?" he asked his brother.

"Hmmmm?"

"Bart, we gotta get you up. We gotta get you back to the doctor and there's only one way to get there. Can we help you get up?"

"Okay," was the answer that came out, but Bart made no move to stand. Finally Bret literally picked him up and put him on his feet, never letting go of his brother. Bart eventually opened his eyes and looked at Bret.

"Just like nothin', huh?"

"Just like nothin'," Bret answered. "Can you get on your horse?"

"No," Bart replied. "Need help."

Bret did everything he could to get Bart up on Noble's back, and the younger gambler finally made it, with great difficulty and much pain. "Just hold on, son, I've got his reins," and Bret took charge of the big buckskin gelding. Bart slumped in the saddle and wrapped both hands around the pommel.

"Lead on, Macduff," Bart mumbled, and Bret did just that. Sonny mounted and followed behind, just to make sure they didn't lose Bart in the procession.

It was slow going to town, and evening was rapidly approaching when they arrived. "Where's the doctor?" Bret asked.

"Take him back to your room, I'll bring the doctor to you," Sonny told him, and Bret led Noble to the hotel.

Bret swung his leg down and dismounted, then went straight to Bart. "Come on, son, just a little further," he said as he helped his brother slide down awkwardly off the horse. He braced Bart up against Noble as he wrapped both sets of reins around the hitching rail, then pulled his brothers arm up and across his own shoulders. The injured man winced but managed a small smile. "Lean all your weight on me, okay?"

Bart nodded and stumbled into the hotel, being half carried by his brother. Up the stairs carefully and down the hall, Bret leaning Bart against the wall as he unlocked the door to their room, then picking his brother up and carrying him inside. "You're too thin," he told Bart for the umpteenth time as he carefully laid him down on the bed. Bart tried to laugh and groaned, which sent him off into a coughing fit. Bret was almost finished pulling Bart's boots off when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he called, and Sonny entered, followed by the doctor.

"Bret Maverick, this is Doctor Cawley. Doc, your patient is his brother Bart."

Doc Cawley nodded and asked, "Do you know what happened?" He didn't wait for an answer, just started examining Bart.

"Not exactly. Best as we can determine he fell off a cliff."

"Fell or was pushed?" Doc shot a glance at Sonny while he checked for bumps or lumps on the back and sides of Bart's head.

"Fell," Bret answered. What had Sonny told the doctor?

"He was up on Lakota Pass when it happened?" Doc's questions continued.

"What has that got to do with – " Bret started, but was interrupted by the doctor.

"It can make a difference, Mr. Maverick. You'd be surprised the injuries I've seen happen up on that mountain." The doctor looked back down at Bart. "I need to check your ribs, son. Hang on." He'd barely touched Bart's left side when the injured man let out a howl. "Steady there. How about this side?" and he gently explored Bart's right rib cage. There was virtually no reaction from Bart.

"Well, there's good news with the bad," he told Bret. "They're broken on the left side – how many I can't be sure, but it feels like two or three. The right side is fine. There's a knot on the back of his head, and I don't like the sound of his breathing. Has he had a lung injury in the past?"

"Yes sir, he took a bullet to the back that nicked a lung. Took him months to quit coughin'."

"When was that? Recently?" Doc Cawley's concern showed on his face.

"No, last year, late." Bret gave a wan smile.

"Has he ever had a concussion before?"

Bret tried not to laugh but couldn't help it. "Too many to count."

"Sonny, there's nothing you can do right now. Get on out of here. I'll meet you downstairs when I'm through," Cawley told the girl, and she shifted her gaze from Doc to Bret.

"I'll be back up," she stated, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Cawley watched her go.

"I'll need your help, Mr. Maverick," Doc said, turning his attention back to Bret. "We have to get him out of this shirt so I can wrap his ribs. Then you should keep him quiet for a few days. I can give him some aspirin for the concussion – "

"No, Doc, you can't. He's allergic to aspirin."

"Hmmph. Well, imagine that. Not many adults have that problem. How'd you find out?"

"The hard way," Bret answered, remembering all the seizures and blackouts Bart had gone through before the culprit was identified.

"Come on, son. Time's a wastin'. Help me get him to sit up."

Bret looked down at his brother on the bed. He knew this was going to hurt, but it had to be done. "Bart, you have to sit up so the doctor can wrap your ribs. I'm gonna grab your hands and pull on three, okay? One, two, three," and he grabbed Bart's hands and pulled him up, while Bart ground his teeth and groaned.

"My God, son, where did he get all these scars?" the doctor asked, finally getting a good look at Bart's upper body as Bret helped to remove his shirt.

"Oh, Doc, too many places to explain in one visit," Bret replied. "There's nobody here but us, Bart. Sonny's downstairs. You can yell all you need to."

Bart shook his head. "Ought . . . . . to be used to this . . . . . by now."

The doctor spent the next few minutes wrapping Bart's ribs; when he was done the pain had subsided somewhat. "Now be careful with that," he was advised. "Keep trying to work those lungs." Doc turned to Bret. "If breathing gets any harder you get him over to see me right away, you hear? And keep him awake for the next few hours for that head. You can let him sleep by morning."

Bret walked the doctor to the door. "Watch him pretty close," Cawley told him before leaving. "I don't like the way that breathing sounds. It'd be too easy for the lung to collapse. If that happens, he's gonna have a real problem. He's got to stay quiet for a few days to give everything a chance to start healing."

Bret nodded. "I'll do my best, doctor. That's all I can promise with Bart." He handed the doctor money and Doc tried to give it back.

"This is too much, Mr. Maverick."

"It's Bret, Doc. Better keep it on account. Just in case my brother does what he usually does."

"I'll keep that in mind, Bret. Thanks."

He left the door partway open, expecting Sonny to be back in a few minutes, and walked back over to his brother, propped up in the bed with two pillows behind him. "I don't suppose you're gonna do what the doctor wants you to, are you?"

Bart gave him the innocent look. "Maybe."

"It certainly wouldn't hurt any, ya know." He watched Bart for a minute and then pulled a chair up next to the bed. "What happened, Bart? You coulda been killed."

"I'm honest-to-God not sure, Bret. I was readin' and all of a sudden I got dizzy again. I remember . . . . somethin' to do with Momma . . . . . and then Caroline. But I'm not sure what, exactly."

"How'd you end up at the bottom of the mountain?"

Bret had to wait while Bart coughed for a minute. "Don't remember."

"I can tell you," came Sonny's voice from the doorway. She entered the room and closed the door. "He was chasing your Mother first, then his wife."

"What?" Bret asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

Sonny stood by the bed, looking at the two brothers, defying them to come up with a more rational explanation. "It does if they were ghosts."


	14. Marching Orders

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 14 – Marching Orders

"Ghosts? There's no such thing," Bret answered confidently.

"I'm not so sure," Bart commented, beginning to question a belief he'd held his whole life.

"Bart. Ghosts aren't real. We knew that when we were kids. You can't believe in 'em now, can you?"

Bart shot Bret a look that was part bewilderment, part doubt, part confusion. "I . . . . . .don't know."

Sonny moved over to the side of the bed, closer to Bart. "Do you remember what you told me when I asked if Caroline was a spirit or a ghost and if they'd sent her to get you?"

"Not exactly." Bart was unsure about what had happened.

"You said they 'sent Momma first, then Caroline'. What did you mean?"

"I . . . . . . I thought . . . . . . I thought I saw them."

Sonny kept at it, trying to pull the memory out of him. "Clear, like they were real and right in front of you? Or hazy, like they weren't flesh and blood?"

"Hazy."

Bret looked at his brother like he'd lost his mind. _'Maybe that's what he's begun to think,'_ Bart considered.

"Bart, you can't believe that. There's no such thing."

"You weren't out there, Bret. You don't know what I saw," Bart answered.

"You don't know what you saw, either," Bret reminded him.

"I saw somethin' or I wouldn't be lyin' in this bed with my ribs bandaged."

Bret got up from his chair and walked to the other side of the room. The tone of his voice was indignant, at best. "Now you believe in ghosts?"

"I didn't say that. Why are you so annoyed?"

Bret shook his head. "Because I think you've let your readin' material influence you, that's why."

"My readin' material?"

"The Edgar Allan Poe book. I read some of it. It's unbelievable, crazy stuff."

Sonny interrupted as she moved to sit in the vacated chair. "You were reading Poe?"

"Not today, Sonny. The last time I was up there alone." He looked across the room at his brother. "And if I tell you my book had nothin' to do with what happened?"

Bret could hear the strain in his brother's voice. "Do you really think you saw ghosts?"

"I don't know, Bret. I just don't know." This was followed by a coughing spasm from Bart.

"It doesn't matter if it was ghosts or not, Bret. There's something going on up there that's . . . . . . odd, at the very least. Spooky. Unnatural. Scary. That's the only point I was trying to make." Sonny reached over and took Bart's hand. "I didn't mean to upset you two."

Bart showed a faint smile. "You didn't, Sonny. I don't know what's up there. And I'm still gonna find out, whatever it takes."

Bret whirled around at the comment. "You're not goin' back up there alone." He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

There was no answer from Bart, except to tell Sonny, "Thanks for comin' after me. You and Bret saved me. But it's gotten dark, and I think you better go home now."

The girl reached over and kissed Bart on the cheek, sensing the brewing conflict between the brothers. "Alright. Can I come by tomorrow to see how you're feeling?"

"Sure," Bart tried to laugh. "I'll be here."

"Goodnight." She looked across at Bret as she went to the door. "Goodnight, Bret."

"Night, Sonny." The door closed behind her and silence enveloped the space. Bret stayed on the opposite side of the room, leaning on his elbow, which was resting on the top of the tall bureau.

"So now you believe in ghosts?"

"So now you think I'm crazy?"

"I didn't say that. What do you want for dinner? I'll go down and get it." That was Bret's attempt to make peace with his brother.

"Not hungry," came Bart's answer. That was Bart's attempt to let Bret know he was having none of it.

Bret walked over to the bed. His tone was softer. "You have to eat."

So was Bart's. "I know."

"I don't think you're crazy."

"And I don't believe in ghosts."

Bret sat back down in the empty chair. "Then why this obsession with that mountain?"

"I wish I knew, Bret. But I don't. All I know is there's somethin' causin' all this . . . . . this stuff that happens. And I need to know what it is."

Bret watched his brother's face carefully. "And what happens when you know the truth?"

"Guess I'll just have to wait and find out."

XXXXXXXX

By the next morning Bart didn't know which he wanted worse – breakfast or sleep. Finally, his stomach won over sleeping and he convinced Bret he could get downstairs for breakfast.

"Doctor said to rest, Bart," his brother reminded him.

"Can't rest if all I can think about is food," was the reply Bret got, and he had to agree. He helped Bart get a shirt on, then a jacket to help fight the chill in the air, and took him by the elbow to give some extra support while going down the stairs. Every part of his body ached from the fall, but he wasn't about to let Bret see how painful it was. "I'm not crippled, ya know," Bart remarked as they entered the dining room.

"I know you're not," Bret answered him, "but a little help never hurt anybody."

They were just finishing breakfast when Sonny entered the dining room. "You're supposed to be resting, Bart Maverick," she told him, pulling up her own chair and sitting down with them. The waitress hurried over and filled her coffee cup. "Just coffee, thanks," she told the girl.

"I'll tell you what I told Bret – I can't rest if I'm hungry."

"It does put a crimp in your sleep to have to listen to your stomach growl. But you do look better than you did last night."

"I hope so. I feel better, that's for sure. Almost good enough – "

"Oh no you don't," Bret interrupted before he had a chance to finish the thought. "Not for a couple days, at least."

"Now how do you know what I was gonna say?"

Bret laughed. "Because you're my brother, and I know what's on your mind right now. Tell him, Sonny, no trips to the mountain for at least a couple days."

Sonny looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup and said sternly, "No trips to the mountain for at least a couple days." Then she giggled.

Bart moved wrong and it caused him to wince, reminding him that he wasn't as well as he thought at this exact moment. "Alright, I'll behave for now. Besides, I don't think I could get up on Noble if I had to. "And now that I've survived the night and I've got a full belly I can go to sleep and not get woken up every hour because of the concussion."

"Then let's get you upstairs, shall we?" Sonny asked.

Bart yawned. "Yes, ma'am, I'm ready to go." He started to get up and found that he needed help to stand straight. Bret grabbed him on one side and Sonny the other and they got him to his feet.

Bart shook his head slightly. "Maybe I do need the rest," he remarked as his escorts helped him up the steps and out of the dining room. By the time they reached the last of the stairs he was glad he had help. "Okay, don't lean me against the wall like last night, please," he requested, and Bret laughed.

"Would you rather I hand you to Sonny?"

"Yes, sir, much rather. She's a whole lot prettier than you, Brother Bret."

Sonny stood on tiptoes and kissed Bart on the cheek. "Alright, you two, I have errands to run. Dinner later, maybe, if I get everything done?"

Both Mavericks nodded and she squeezed Bret's arm. "Take good care of him. There's another dance in a couple weeks."

"Yes, ma'am," Bret answered. "Come on, let's get you into bed," he told his brother. "I have my orders."


	15. Forbidden

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 15 – Forbidden

Two days went by, then two more, and the soreness started to leave Bart's body. He wished the ribs would heal that fast, but he knew better. Bret watched him carefully, waiting for any sign that he was headed back up to Lakota Pass, but Bart knew that was out of the question until he could at least mount his horse.

On the fifth day after the 'accident' he got a message from Ray Sunshine at the Palace that Kimimela was in town buying supplies. Against Bret's advice he got out of bed and dressed, pleased to find that he could get down the hotel stairs without help. He walked carefully down to the saloon and through the doors just as the Lakota woman was buying a paper from the bar.

"Good morning, Kimimela," he winced as one of the doors caught him on the undamaged ribs. "I was hoping to catch you before you went back up the mountain."

She stopped, startled to see him. "You are alive," she stated unnecessarily.

"Did you expect something different?" he asked her.

"I . . . . I . . . . uh, I saw them with you at the foot of the mountain. I did not stay to see if you were . . . . "

"Dead or alive?"

"Yes."

"Did you have anything to do with my fall?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No."

"But you saw the result?"

"Yes," she answered, barely audible.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"There is nowhere here that I am welcome."

"Then I'll go with you back to the mountain."

"No – the spirits are still disturbed."

Bart had an idea. "Then I'll get a buggy from the livery and take you to the foot of the mountain. We can tie your horse to the back. Will you do that?"

She took a minute to make a decision. "Yes," she finally nodded.

"Wait for me?" he asked.

"Outside."

He held the batwing doors open for her and she slipped outside. Her pony was tethered in front of the saloon, with two large bags hung across his flanks. Bart hurried down to the livery, as fast as he could, and came back in a few minutes driving a buggy. Kimimela tied her pony to the back of the buggy and climbed up into the front by herself before Bart could get down to help her.

"You are still hurt," she explained when he tried to protest her not waiting for him.

He slapped the reins and the buggy lurched forward, Bart letting out a small groan as the movement impacted his ribs.

"Pain?" the girl questioned.

He nodded, not wanting to say anything about the discomfort. "Did you see me on the mountain before I was injured?"

Her answer was slow in coming. "No," she finally told him, "I was not there."

"Not where I was or not on the mountain?"

"Not on the mountain."

That seemed odd since she'd told him she lived on the mountain. "Where were you?"

"I was home. With my people."

"Ah." He wasn't quite sure how to word his next question. "Are the mountain spirits angry with me?"

She shook her head. "Not you. All white men."

"Because we use the mountain pass?"

"Because you give us land and then take it away."

He couldn't blame them for that. "So whatever's been happenin' isn't because of me?"

"No."

"Is there anything I can do to fix it?"

She looked at him plaintively. "Make white men leave our home."

He sighed helplessly. If only it were that easy. "I'd like to, Kimimela. But I can't. I'm nobody and they won't listen to me. Gold fever's got 'em, and that's the only thing they can hear. There's nothin' else I can do?"

"Do not build on mountain."

Bart had begun to come to the same conclusion. No matter how beautiful the land was, or what a pull it had on him, trying to live there might very well kill him. It made him think of Caroline – to realize your heart's desire just as it's ripped away from you forever. Was there no peace or happiness for him anywhere?

"You are somewhere else?" her words broke through his thoughts.

"Just thinkin'," he answered. "Do you know what causes the visions?"

"Spirits. Very powerful spirits."

"I see. And these spirits affect even the white man?"

"Spirit world controls everything, even white man."

Could she be right? Was there some sort of spirit world out there that directed life and had ways of showing its displeasure? Did that conflict with everything his mother had taught him about God and the Bible, or was it all part of the same universe? Were there any answers to his questions?

He felt her delicate hand on his arm and turned to her. They'd reached the foot of the mountain and it was time for her to depart. "You are . . . . . . a good man, Bart Maverick. You would be a good zuyá wičháša."

He laid the horses reins down on the seat and got awkwardly out of the buggy, walking around to the side Kimimela was on. This time she waited for him and allowed him to help her down to the ground. She was so beautiful, and without thinking about it he bent and kissed her. Unexpectedly she returned his kiss, and they stood for a long minute wrapped in an embrace. When they separated she moved quickly to the rear of the buggy, untied her pony and mounted. Without hesitation she dug her heels into the side of her horse and started up the mountain, not looking back. He watched until she was out of sight, and with a sigh pulled himself back up into the seat, picking up the reins and turning towards town.

zuyá wičháša - warrior


	16. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 16 – Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

"I thought you were going down to the saloon to talk to the Lakota girl."

Bart blinked and sat down on the bed. "I did."

"You were gone an awful long time."

"Uh-huh."

"Where'd ya go, Bart?"

"To talk to Kimimela, Bret. She was at the Palace."

"I can't imagine she was welcome there."

"She wasn't. We went for a buggy ride so we could talk."

Bret was nothing if not persistent. "About the mountain?"

"Yes, about the mountain. What else do you want to know?" Bart was getting tired of this game they seemed to be playing.

"Did she have anything new to say?"

Bart shook his head. "Nothin' of any consequence. The spirits don't want the white man there. That kind of stuff."

Bret looked at his brother quizzically. "Do you believe her?"

"In mystical spirits that try to kill people? No. In somethin' up there that's causin' all this? Yes. Beyond that, I don't know what to believe any more."

Bret grabbed the chair and set it next to the bed, then straddled it backwards. "We've been here almost two weeks, Bart. Do you know what you're gonna do yet? About the land and stayin' here, I mean."

"Honestly? No. You gettin' restless?"

"I could stand to go somewhere else."

This was the first time Bret had said anything. "How soon?"

"Soon as you decide what you're doin'."

"And if I decide to stay here?"

"You're my brother, Bart, and I'd rather go with ya than without ya. But I'm not stayin' in a minin' town in the Black Hills named Mystic."

There it was, laid out in front of him. No ifs, ands, or buts. Bret was leaving, whether he did or not. So now the decision was his, and he was nowhere near ready to make it. He'd left too many times, too many places, when he didn't have an answer for something that he really wanted an answer to. He wasn't leaving this time. Not until he knew just what was up on that mountain that seemed to want him gone – or dead.

"How long?"

"What?" Bret asked, not sure what his brother meant.

"How long before you go?"

"A week. No more than that."

"Will you promise you'll stay the whole week? No leavin' early?"

"I'll stay the whole week. Does that mean you're leavin' with me?"

Bart grinned, having finally gotten the better of his brother. "I'll tell ya in a week."

XXXXXXXX

For the first time in almost a week Bart felt good enough to drive out to the Atwater ranch. Sonny was sitting on the front porch, watching one of the ranch hands break in a new horse, when Bart pulled up in the buggy. Her sandy-blonde hair hung loose and long down her back, and she looked happy and relaxed. "Bart!" she called as soon as she saw him.

He got down from the buggy carefully. Most of his aches were gone, but his ribs still hurt and were tender when he moved the wrong way. Sonny ran down the steps to meet him, and he kissed her on the cheek.

"Good to see you up and around," she told him. "Come on up and sit for a while. There's a fresh pot of coffee on the stove if you're interested."

"Sure," he told her. "There's always room for coffee. But I'd like to ride out to the lake with you, if you've got time."

"Alright," she answered. "Let's have coffee when we come back. And there's some sweet rolls that were made this morning. Let me get a shawl."

He waited for her on the bottom step, and when she returned he took the shawl and put it around her shoulders, the way he had the first night he'd been there, the night of the dance. 'You ready?" he asked before helping her up into the buggy. She nodded and smiled.

They drove along the road to Phantom Lake in silence. The day was cool and breezy but still pleasant, and it felt good to be out in the air after almost a week in bed. "You're awful quiet," Sonny told him, and he nodded.

"Got a lot on my mind," he volunteered.

"Including a mountain?" she asked.

"Includin' a mountain. But that's not all."

He pulled the horse up once they'd reached the cove. He was still for a while, just looking out over the water and enjoying the peace that lived here. "Bret's leavin' in a week," he finally told her.

"Oh." She hadn't thought about them leaving for a while. "Are you going with him?"

"I don't know. Can I tell you a story?"

His voice was so serious. "Of course."

"There was a girl I knew a long time ago. She was a friend, then more than a friend, then she became my sister-in-law. And she lived on a ranch in New Mexico, and she fell in love with the land. And then I fell in love with her, but she couldn't or wouldn't leave the ranch. I couldn't stay there; it's where my wife was killed. So I left."

He put his head down; she could see it was hard for him to talk about it. "Years later there was another girl. And we fell in love. I'd been in a terrible accident, and I couldn't remember who I was. I thought I was someone else, someone who was dangerous, and I left her to protect her. When we found out who I really was I wanted to take her with me. I even wanted to marry her. But she wouldn't leave the land she'd spent her whole life on. So I left again.

"I never understood either woman, and what they felt for the land. Until that day two weeks ago when Bret and I came over Lakota Pass. It was almost like my eyes were open for the first time, and I'd never seen anything like it. I had to own it. I had to stay there forever. That's why I was in such a hurry to buy the land from your father. Suddenly I understood what Samantha and Amy felt for their land, and why they wouldn't leave."

"That's a good thing, isn't it, Bart?" Sonny asked him.

"It would be, Sonny, but that's the thing. It doesn't matter that I have a piece of paper that says the land is mine. It isn't. It belongs to the Indians, to the Lakota and Kimimela, and no matter how many pieces of paper I have, it'll never be my land. And if I stay here I'll want to see it, and live on it, and I can't."

"So you're leaving with Bret?"

"I can't leave until I know what's goin' on up there. There's a reason for all of the stuff that keeps happenin', a reason I saw ghosts or spirits or whatever anybody wants to call them. I NEED TO KNOW. I have to go back up there, Sonny. I have to go back until I know what's up there. And I can't tell Bret. He'll go crazy. So I wanted you to know. In case . . . . . "

She stared at him with a mixture of fascination and terror. "In case something happens and you don't come back?"

"Yes," he answered quietly.

"No," she said emphatically. "If you're going back up there, I'm going with you."


	17. Wishin' and Hopin', Thinkin' and Prayin'

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 17 – Wishin' and Hopin', Thinkin' and Prayin'

"I'm not arguin'," Bart agreed. "But we do it my way."

"What's your way?"

"I'll tell you when we get there. Tomorrow? At about three o'clock?"

"Won't Bret think you're going up to the mountain?"

"I have to convince him he's wrong."

Sonny had a suggestion. "Why don't I come get you and bring a lunch and then you can tell Bret we're having a picnic?"

Bart chuckled at that. "I love a woman that's sneaky."

"Crafty."

"Hmmmmm?"

"I prefer crafty."

He reached up to brush the hair from her eyes, then ran his fingers over her face until he stopped under her chin and turned her head towards him. His kiss was soft and wistful, and when she opened her eyes his face was just inches from hers. For the first time since this whole obsession started his eyes were clear and bright and she saw the man inside and liked what she saw. He kissed her again, and then he told her softly, "I think we better go have that coffee now."

XXXXXXXX

The brothers went to the Palace that night and played poker, and it became evident that the professional gamblers were just too good for the miners. Bart didn't win every game this time, but he played well enough to finish the night almost twenty-two hundred dollars ahead. From the satisfied look on Bret's face as they stood outside and smoked, he'd also done well for himself.

"You up for breakfast?" Bret asked as he blew smoke from the cigar.

"Naw, I'm tired. I want to go get some sleep. Sonny's comin' to get me at three o'clock today and we're goin' for a buggy ride and a picnic."

"Well, I'm on my way to Irma's for some breakfast. I'll see you later?"

Bart had a confused look on his face. "I thought Irma's was only open early on Fridays and Saturdays?"

"She is, Bart, she is."

Slowly it dawned on the younger brother. "Oh. Well, you have a nice breakfast, you hear?"

Bret chuckled. "I will, son, I will." He threw the rest of his cigar into the street and turned to walk up to Irma's, whistling as he went.

Bart stood in the dark for a few minutes, smoking his cigar and letting his mind wander. He hoped that he'd alleviated Bret's concerns about his traveling back to the mountain; he didn't want his brother worried when there might be nothing to worry about. He was too wound-up to sleep and he knew it, so he headed down the street to think for a while about the misgivings he'd had concerning the episodes at Lakota Pass. He walked until he was tired, reasoning and planning, hoping that his hunch was correct. If he was right he'd know within twenty-four hours and he wouldn't have to leave another town with unanswered questions, like he had so many before.

But what if he wasn't right? What if things didn't work out the way he thought? Was he willing to stay in Mystic and watch his brother ride off without him? Did the puzzle he was trying to solve mean that much to him? If he didn't get the answer he was looking for, or any answer, would he remain until he had one? In that moment he felt the tightening in his stomach, and knew that he would continue in the little mining town that was meant only to be a stopover on the way to something bigger and better, until he had his answer. . . . . . a reason for all the peculiar things that happened in that part of the Black Hills known as Lakota Pass.

With that question resolved he turned back towards the hotel and was surprised to see how far he'd walked. At least he'd had the time to make some preliminary decisions. Now all he had to do was wait and see how it all played out . . . . . .

XXXXXXXX

The knock came a few minutes before three o'clock. Bart opened the door and ushered Sonny into the room. Bret was lying on the bed playing Maverick solitaire, and looked up briefly. "Hey, Sonny. Nice day for a picnic. You two going to the lake?"

"Hello, Bret. No, I've got a better spot in mind," she answered. "It's more private." She giggled, then helped Bart put his jacket on before wandering over to see what Bret was doing. "What's that you're playing?"

"Pappy calls it Maverick solitaire. You deal out twenty-five cards and try to make five pat poker hands with them."

"How often can you do that?" the girl asked.

"About ninety-five percent of the time," Bart answered.

"Ninety-eight, according to Pappy," Bret corrected.

Bart was impatient to get started. "Sonny, you ready? I'm starved."

"You youngsters have fun," Bret called as they went out the door. "Don't stay out too late."

As soon as they got out of earshot Bart asked her, "Did you remember to bring the scarf and the extra blanket?"

"Of course," Sonny answered. "I can't wait to see what you wanted them for."

"You did bring lunch, didn't you?"

"It was my idea, remember? I brought lunch," she laughed.

"Good, let's eat. I AM starving."

XXXXXXXX

Bart headed the buggy out toward the mountain and found a secluded grove of trees near the top of the valley to have lunch in. He spread one of the blankets Sonny brought and they ate and laughed and told stories of their growing up, Bart in Texas and Sonny in South Dakota. She'd had a wonderful time as her father's shadow, learning everything a son would have on a working ranch. Bart regaled her with stories of him and Bret and their cousin Beau, learning to play poker as soon as he was old enough to hold the cards. They were drinking coffee when he finally said, "It's not too late to back out of this, you know. I'd understand if you wanted to."

"And let you go up there by yourself? Not a chance. Besides, I'm not going to believe anything you tell me unless I see it for myself. What's your plan?"

"I'm gonna smoke out the spirits."

"Smoke out the spirits?"

"You'll understand when we get there. I've got an idea, and I need to find out if I'm right."

She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. "Are we ready to go yet?"

"Not like that, we're not," and he reached up and pulled her down to him, and kissed her the way she deserved to be kissed. "Now we're ready."


	18. I've Seen Fire

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 18 – I've Seen Fire

The trip up the mountain was slow and silent. The road wasn't made for buggy travel and Bart had to be extremely careful to make sure they didn't end up in a ditch or worse, over the side of the mountain. One trip there was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

It was almost dark by the time they reached Bart's property. The weather had turned colder still and Sonny was glad she'd brought a jacket and not just a shawl. They located the spot where Bart made 'camp' the last time and he built a fire, careful to use only sticks and logs and nothing else. Once the fire was burning nice and bright, he spread a blanket on the ground and he and Sonny sat down to get warm.

"Ok, we're here. What's your plan?"

"I thought about this a lot. Every time I've seen or heard somethin' I've had a fire goin'. And the one time nothin' happened Bret built the fire. Now, I know everybody makes a fire different. But what if I'm burnin' somethin' that Bret didn't, and it's causin' all these dang visions?"

"You mean like, like a drug or something? Something in the smell or smoke that makes a person hallucinate? But what about all the other things that happened? What about the disappearing mustangs, and the building supplies vanishing? And the birds, what about the birds?"

"Sonny, I don't know about everything. I'm just talkin' about the things I've seen and heard. And the birds? Who says there can't be some kinda bird up here that we don't know about?"

She sat quietly for a minute, deciding she'd come this far and should go the rest of the way. "Alright, what's your plan?"

"I'm gonna try burnin' different things in the fire and see what happens. That's why I wanted you to bring the scarf and the extra blanket. You can wear the scarf to help keep out the smoke and we can use the extra blanket kinda like a teepee so I can inhale it."

"You're going to test your theory on yourself?"

"Who else? Sure not gonna try it on you."

She shook her head. "What if you see things again? What if you get hurt and I can't help you?"

"Seein' things is kinda the point, isn't it? If I do I'll know I'm right."

"And if you get hurt?"

"Now you sound like Bret."

"It's a reasonable question, Bart," she reminded him. "What do I do if you get hurt?"

"The best you can, Sonny. Just stop me from runnin' off any more cliffs, would ya?"

"What if you're wrong?"

Bart grinned, hoping to allay her fears. "Then you're stuck with me till I figure it out."

"You'd stay in Mystic?" Her question was hopeful.

"Until I get an answer, yes."

"What if – "

"Come on, Sonny, no more 'what-ifs.' Get the scarf wrapped around your face good and tight. I'm goin' to find some brush and leaves."

Bart walked off in search of something that he might have gathered and burned in the other fires. Sonny wound the scarf around her face and mouth, tying it tightly to give her as much protection from the smoke as possible. He came back with a handful of leaves and vines and she nodded to him as he threw the fuel on the fire.

The new additions caught fire quickly and sent up a plume of smoke. Bart stood as close as he could get to the flames and wrapped the extra blanket over his head, making sure the wind blew the smoke at him and away from the girl. He inhaled deeply and immediately sent himself into a coughing spasm, waiting expectantly for the feelings he'd gotten on previous occasions. He stood for a few minutes, but nothing happened. Reluctantly he put down the blanket and looked at her. "Nothin'," was his only comment.

He studied the fire and the material he'd brought back and knew what was missing. Those leaves and flowers that smelled so sweet and pleasant; there were none of those. He moved away from the fire and into the brush and finally saw what he was searching for. Grabbing a large handful, he ripped them free of their entanglement and returned to the fire. "Let's try again," he told Sonny and dropped the new additions onto the flames.

The smoke from the burning materials hit him so quickly that he couldn't bend to pick up the blanket for his makeshift teepee. It was sweet and sticky, and stronger and thicker than it had ever been before. In just a few seconds the fumes overpowered him, and he had no time to do anything but drop to his knees as the world spun all around him, and his head spun with it.

The darkness enveloped him, and there was no light anywhere; no fire, no moon, no stars, nothing but the pitch-black night. And out of that night he heard a sound that grew louder and louder, until it surrounded him on all sides and threatened his very existence, and pounded in his brain so there was nothing in the very fiber of his being but the sound of Lakota war whoops and thundering horses. He dropped to the ground shrieking and covered his head with his arms as the full war party roared around him and over him, and he could feel the horses' unshod hooves as they dug into his flesh and ripped his mind to shreds.

He screamed and cried but the pounding continued mercilessly, almost as if stampeding in a never-ending circle around his crumpled body. He felt the flaming arrows as they pierced his skin and nestled deep inside his soul, each one more terrorizing and painful than the one before, and in that instant he knew that death, any death, would be less horrifying than the punishment being inflicted on him by the war party.

The torture continued for hours as he begged for the sweet relief of obliteration. And then, finally, they were gone, and he was left bleeding and torn with only the cloud of dust they created, and the cold hard fact that his suffering was far from over. His heart raced and attempted to jump from his chest, and the pain and terror were unbearable. From out of nowhere unknown hands grabbed him and tore at him, promising only further destruction. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his lungs threatened to burst with the effort, and when sounds finally refused to pass his throat his heart suddenly slowed until it was barely beating and he began to strangle within.

Something lifted him off the ground and shook him for long minutes and then dropped him back to the earth from a great distance. The abuse was repeated over and over until it seemed every bone in his body must surely be broken. And then he saw her. Caroline. But not any way she had ever appeared to him before. Shrieking and raging at him, furious that he had let her die without doing anything to prevent it, blaming him for robbing her of life, any kind of life, and she came at him not with her hands and fingers but claws that tore at his face and throat and ripped his humanity from him. When there was nothing left on him but shredded flesh she struck him, again and again, and when there was no feeling left anywhere in his body or soul he dropped to the ground, spent and dead.

XXXXXXXX

Sonny couldn't believe how quickly the man that she knew as Bart Maverick disappeared and turned into something inhuman; almost as soon as he breathed the smoke from the latest additions to the fire he dropped first to his knees, then flat on the ground next to the fire, shrieking and crying and covering his head with his hands and arms. Embers jumped from the fire onto his jacket and shirt and Sonny held her breath and beat them out before they could turn into flames and burn him alive.

And then suddenly she heard a horse galloping up the trail and before she could blink Bret was there and on the ground, pulling Bart away from the smoke and the embers, searching frantically for his brother's heartbeat as Bart once again started screaming. Then Bret's voice, desperate and wild. "Bart! Bart! It's Bret, wake up! Come out of it!"

Bret grabbed for his brother's neck to feel the pulse there and she could see the shock and terror on Bret's face as he found the heartbeat and picked his brother up off the ground and shook him, almost as if he was trying to shake life back into the younger man. Again and again he shook him and finally turned to Sonny in a panic. "Sonny! Come over and slap his face. Now, Sonny! Harder, slap him harder! Again! Again! Again!" Finally after long, silent minutes a short, low moan emanated from the body that Bret held aloft, and he lowered what was left of his brother to the ground and sank down next to him, kicking at the remains of the fire to put it out once and for all.

XXXXXXXX

Bret continued his game of Maverick solitaire for another hour before something struck him as odd that he hadn't paid any attention to when he first noticed it: Bart hadn't put on the buckskin jacket he usually wore in weather like Mystic saw today, he'd slipped into his heavier coat, the one he'd wear to go to a colder temperature. Like the mountain air one would find at Lakota Pass.

But they'd said – yes, he was sure of it. They'd said they were going on a picnic. Yet when Bret asked if they were going to Phantom Lake Sonny had told him she knew a better spot – someplace more private. Everything they'd said to him carefully worded to avoid disclosing where they were going without outright lying to him. Just like Bart to not want to lie to him.

He dropped the cards on the bed and got up in a hurry, putting on his boots and his gun belt as fast as he could, then practically running out the door to the room as he slipped into his heavier jacket. Down to the livery to saddle his horse then ride hell-bent-for-election as fast as he could back up to the pass.

As soon as he got to the road at the base of the mountain he knew he was right – there were fresh buggy tracks on the road. He urged the stallion on and climbed rapidly until he heard something bloodcurdling that made him pull up for a moment. It was his brother, screaming as if in terrible pain, and he dug his heels into the horse's sides and rode up the path. A quarter of a mile further he could just make out shapes in the dark and then suddenly he could see a fire, and what looked like Sonny Atwater, with a thick scarf wrapped around her head, standing behind the fire. And on the ground right next to the flames lay what looked like a body – and ten feet further on he could see it was his brother. Sparks and embers were jumping out of the fire and landing on Bart's clothing and Sonny was trying feverishly to put them out.

He rode up as close as he could get and jumped off his horse, fear overtaking him as he pulled Bart's seemingly lifeless body away from the smoke and fire. Then, just as Bret searched desperately for Bart's heartbeat, without warning Bart started shrieking and screaming again, piercing sounds that continued unabated for several minutes. Frantic to stop the hysteria that held Bart tight within its grasp, Bret tried to reach his brother verbally. "Bart! Bart! It's Bret, wake up! Come out of it!"

Getting no response he grabbed at Bart's neck to find a pulse and what he felt terrified him. His pulse was so slow it was almost non-existent. Desperate measures were in order, and Bret lifted him off the ground and shook him over and over until he was himself exhausted. With no strength left to continue trying to shake the life back into him, Bret turned to Sonny in a panic. "Sonny! Come over and slap his face. Now, Sonny! Harder, slap him harder! Again! Again! Again!"

At long last Bart moaned, almost a soft, low growl and Bret visibly shuddered and laid his brother down gently on the ground. Moments later Bret collapsed next to him and kicked what was left of the fire into scattered pieces, which quickly burned out. Sonny sank to the ground next to the spent man and leaned against him for support.

"What . . . . happened?" Bret finally gasped out, as he checked his brother's pulse once more. This time it was still slow, but steady.

"He was right," Sonny choked, exhausted just from being a marginal participant. "He was right." She unwrapped the scarf from around her mouth and coughed, happy to be free of the hindrance to her breathing at last.

"Right about what?" It was difficult for Bret to get his own emotions under control after the terrible scene he had just been part of. When Sonny didn't respond his question was more forceful. "Right about what?" Bret willed himself to stand and staggered over to the stallion, retrieving his canteen from the saddle. He took a long drink and then brought it back to Sonny, who was sitting on the blanket next to Bart's body. She drank from the canteen and handed it back to Bret, who sat down on the other side of his brother and wet his handkerchief with some of the remaining water. He proceeded to wipe his brother's face, and finally another moan escaped Bart's lips and he stirred slightly.

Sonny tried to answer Bret's question. "He said . . . . . Bart said . . . . . that it was something . . . . in the fire. And he tried to find out . . . . . what."

"By doing what? Inhaling the fumes? And you let him?"

"Don't yell at me, Bret. I'm not a child. Did you ever try to stop your brother . . . . when he wanted to do something? It was either let him do this by himself or try to help. You can see which one I chose." She hung her head and coughed for a long minute before looking back up at the older Maverick. "He would have set himself on fire if I hadn't been here."

Bret had moved closer to cradle his unconscious brother's head in his lap, and he reached over and patted Sonny on the arm. His voice was softer and calmer when he spoke next. "I know, Sonny. I'm sorry. This isn't your fault."

The moon had finally risen in the sky and both looked up at the sound they heard overhead – the sound of giant wings flapping. Streaking across the sky were twenty or more of the massive black birds with the ugly bald heads. Noiselessly they made their way from one side of the mountain to the other. Bret and Sonny looked at each other and then back up at the birds.

"What the hell are those?" Bret asked incredulously.

"Bart's giant birds," Sonny answered. "You see them, don't you?"

"I see them, but I can't imagine what they're doing here," Bret told her.

"Why? What are they?"

Bret rubbed his chin. "They're condors. I've only seen them in California. Bart saw them?"

"He's not the only one that saw them."

"Maybe he doesn't know what they are. I spent a month in a mining camp up in Northern California. They had 'em up there. I thought sure he'd know what they were." Bret stopped and thought about the mining camp in California and finally remembered that Bart hadn't been with him. Where was his brother? Right now he couldn't remember that, either. Right now he was lucky to remember his own name. He couldn't think of a time he'd been so worried, scared, or crazed with grief as the moment he saw his brother's crumpled form on the ground next to the fire tonight. He was sure that Bart's insatiable need for the 'what' or 'why' of something had finally gotten him killed. His adrenaline and his emotions were crashing now that he knew the man he tended to was alive . . . . . this time.

There was another small groan as Bret kept wiping his brother's face. Very slowly his eyelids fluttered, then opened, but they were filled with panic and terror, and Bret had to hold him down to keep the younger man from jumping up and fleeing. "Bart, look at me. It's Bret. You're safe, son. I've got ya. It's over, Bart. It's over. You proved your point. Whatever you heard, whatever you saw, they're gone. You're safe."

Very shakily he whispered "Bret?"

"Yeah, Bart, it's big brother. They're all gone. They can't hurt you anymore. Do you want some water? I've got the canteen right here."

"Yeah," came the softly murmured answer. Bret lifted his brother's head to drink and Bart drank greedily until at last he was satisfied. "It was Caroline. She . . . . hates me. She tried to kill me."

"It was a delusion, Bart. She wasn't here. You were right, it was something you burned in the fire that caused you to see and hear things."

Sonny moved closer on the blanket. "Bart, honey. It was the sweet smelling leaves with the flowers. That's what gives the smoke that makes people crazy. Your Caroline wasn't here."

Without removing his eyes from Bret's face he answered her, "She was here. She scratched my face and throat and . . . . . . beat on me. She wanted me dead." He closed his eyes again and sighed as if the mere act of speaking wore him out.

"I'm sorry, honey, that was me. I wasn't trying to kill you; your clothes were on fire from the embers and I was trying to keep you from burning alive."

"Oh." The voice faded out and Bret looked at Sonny.

"He's gone again."

"Do you think he'll remember any of this. Bret?" Sonny pleaded.

"I don't know, Sonny. I just don't know. One things for sure – you and I won't forget it."


	19. Good-Night All

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 19 – Good-Night All

Bret loaded Bart into the buggy and drove it carefully down the mountain, with Sonny riding Bret's stallion. When they reached the bottom and there was no further danger of falling off the road, Bret let Sonny drive the buggy and got back on his horse. He rode silently all the way to Mystic, next to the slow moving buggy, and once again sent Sonny for Doc Cawley when they reached the hotel.

He picked Bart up and carried him up the stairs, with the night clerk running ahead of him to unlock the room. He had just laid his brother down on the bed when the doctor and Sonny came through the door.

"What did he do this time?" the doctor asked while shaking his head.

"Accidentally poisoned himself," Bret answered, and proceeded to give the doctor a brief rundown of the afternoon's events.

Doc Cawley began his examination of the still unconscious man and finally turned to Bret with a question. "Did he eat it, drink it, smoke it, or inhale it?"

Sonny stepped forward and supplied the answer. "He inhaled it Doc, it was in the smoke. He burned some of the plant."

"How much of it did he burn?"

"A lot," Sonny replied.

"And how long did he breathe the smoke?"

"Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

Doc turned back to Bret. "Mr. Maverick – Bret – you used the right word when you said 'poisoned.' From Sonny's description it sounds like Devil's Breath – at least that's what we called it when I was a boy. I haven't been up to the pass, so I can't be certain without seeing it, but it sure sounds right. And Devil's Breath is treacherous – overdoses or repeated doses of it can kill. You're lucky you got to him when you did. He came real close."

"To dying?" Sonny asked bluntly.

"Yes, Sonny, to dying. He's still not real well."

Bret moved closer to the bedside. "What can I do for him, Doc? There must be somethin'."

"Keep him quiet. His heart's kinda slow right now; I'm hopin' it'll come back without any problems. He needs sleep and time more than anything. If his heart rate drops you gotta get me right away." He stared hard at Bret. "You know how to check his pulse?"

"Yeah, Doc, I do."

"Good. If it falls below fifty per minute come after me. Now don't let me scare you to death – I don't think it will. But just be careful for a few days. Until he gets that poison out of his system."

"Hear that, Brother Bart? No picnics for a few days. Thanks, Doc. Told you we'd see you again."

"That you did, Bret. Take care of him. I'd like to see him standing straight and tall for once, instead of broken into little pieces."

Bret shook hands with Doc Cawley. "I will take care of him, Doc. I've got him broken in, I'd like to keep him."

The doctor laughed and was still laughing as he left the room.

"Bret, I'm sorry. We should have told you what we were doing."

Bret held the chair for Sonny while she sat and then he took the other one by the bed. "Yeah, you should have. But I understand why you didn't. He's real charmin' when he's tryin' to persuade you to do somethin' his way. And you made the right decision to go with him. Thanks for keepin' him from catchin' on fire."

"I had a selfish reason, you know."

"And what was that?"

She blushed as she answered him. "He promised to stay if he didn't get an answer."

"Yeah. I don't know what he's gonna do."

Sonny smiled wistfully. "I think I do."

Bret cocked his head and looked at her. "What?"

"Leave with you when you go."

"I don't know, Sonny. I've never seen him fall in love with a piece a land like that. That's gonna be awful hard to walk away from."

"He already has, Bret." She lowered her head so he wouldn't see the tears standing in her eyes. "He believes the land belongs to the Indians."

"He does? He told you that?"

"Yes." She nodded to emphasize her answer.

"Good. I do, too. Besides, he's not ready to stay in one place yet."

"Not as long as Caroline stays dead." She laughed after she said it, but she thought it was true.

Bart moaned softly and Bret moved quickly to see if he was coming around. There was no further sound or movement and the gambler sat back down in the chair. "You don't have to stay, ya know. You must be worn out."

Now thinking about being tired, she yawned. "You may be right. It's been a long day. I'll come by tomorrow to see how he is, if that's alright with you?"

"Sure," he told her. He walked her to the door. "Thanks for tryin' to take care of him, Sonny."

She stood on tiptoes and kissed Bret on the cheek. "Thanks for the rescue, Bret. Good-night."

"Good-night, Sonny." He watched her walk down the hall to the stairs before he closed the door. Then he turned back to the man on the bed. "You almost killed yourself, ya dang fool. One a these days I'm not gonna be there."

Bret sat back down in a chair by the bed. "Just what am I supposed to do with you? Did ya ever think a just steppin' in front of a train? It'd be a whole lot quicker." Bret thought about that for a minute. "Don't consider that a suggestion, alright? I'm not sure I could stop a train."

There was one over-stuffed chair in the corner of the room. Bret got up and pulled it over by the bed, took his boots off and propped his feet up on one of the other chairs. Then he grabbed the extra blanket off the end of the bed and threw it over himself. "I'm stayin' right here, just in case you need somethin', okay? Good-night, Brother Bart. See you in the mornin'."


	20. Not Without Me

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 20 – Not Without Me

Bret woke slowly to the sound of a low, soft moan. It took him minutes to realize the sound was coming from the bed, and he threw off the blanket covering him and sat up, stiff and sore from a night of sleeping in a chair. It wasn't the first time he'd done so.

He looked over at the body in the bed, that of his brother. Bart hadn't moved since the last time he was awake, about three hours ago. That's where the moan emanated from. Bret stretched to try and get the kinks out of his body as Bart finally attempted to roll over. Another sound came from the bed, this time more of a groan, and the body finally succeeded in turning sideways. "Bart?" the older brother asked.

"Mmmmhmmm," came the answer, the first acknowledgement of consciousness since that brief stretch at Lakota Pass. Bret looked down at his brother and saw that Bart's eyes were open, if unfocused.

"Are you back with us?" Bret inquired, not really expecting an answer of any consequence.

"Yeah," he heard his brother say and was surprised to get any kind of response.

Immediately alert, Bret offered the only thing he had handy. "Do you want some water?"

"Yeah," he got for the second time.

Bret stood up and padded over in stockinged feet to the pitcher and glass sitting on the dresser, pouring about two-thirds of one and returning to the bedside. He moved the hard wooden chair so he could sit down and raise his brother's head enough to drink, and Bart proceeded to drain the glass. "More?"

"Uh-uh." Bart's eyes seemed to finally focus and he looked up at his brother. "Sonny?"

"I sent her home last night," Bret stated as he set the glass on the floor next to the bed. "She's fine."

"Good." That one word was followed by almost two minutes of coughing and gagging. Bret wondered if anything else was going to happen, but Bart finally settled down.

"How do you feel this mornin'?"

Instead of an answer he got a moan from the bed. He waited to see if there was another answer in there somewhere, and he finally heard a barely audible whisper. "Hung over."

"What hurts? Head, throat, chest, lungs, stomach?"

"Yeah."

"All of it?"

"Yeah."

"Gee, I wonder why?"

"Sorry."

Bret smiled slightly. "Don't apologize to me. My aches will go away in a few minutes. You may be stuck with yours for a while. Tell me, was it worth it?"

"Maybe. Not sure."

"Just in case yer wonderin', ya proved yer point last night."

If Bart had been more alert he might have caught the Texas twang in his brother's voice. "Point?"

"That the hallucinations were caused by somethin' on the mountain, and not ghosts or spirits."

"I did?"

"You don't remember?" Bret wondered. How much of a person's memory did the drug actually obliterate?

"Not . . . . . much." Another coughing spasm followed, but this one wasn't as long or as severe.

"Doc Cawley was here last night. He says the thing is called Devil's Breath. Much longer and it coulda killed ya."

"Oh."

Bret sat back down in the over-stuffed chair he'd slept in, facing his brother in the bed. "You almost set yerself on fire, besides everything else."

"How?"

"You collapsed right next to the flames. The wind was blowin' embers on ya. Sonny had to keep puttin' 'em out so you didn't start burnin'."

"That's why . . . . . ."

"You thought you were gettin' beat on?"

"Yeah."

"You don't remember who you thought was beatin' on ya?"

"No."

"Caroline." Bret watched Bart carefully to see any kind of reaction but there was none.

"She's dead."

"You told me she blamed you for lettin' her die. Do you really believe that?"

Long minutes of silence followed. Then, quietly, "Yeah."

Bret didn't know what to say. Was this one of the reasons Bart never seemed to get past Caroline's death? He blamed himself? "That you let her die?"

Another long pause. "Yeah."

Bret shook his head. "I know what happened, Bart. Samantha told me the whole story a long time ago. You aren't to blame for Caroline dyin'."

"Yeah . . . . . I am. I shoulda . . . . . shot Tenley first."

"He had a gun on you. If you woulda gone for yours he'd have killed you, then Caroline. She'd still be dead, but you'd be dead, too."

"Yeah."

"Is that what you think? What you've thought all these years? That you'd be better off if you'd died with Caroline?"

This time there was no hesitation in the answer. "Yeah."

Bret leaned forward in his chair, until he was as close as he could get to Bart. "Look at me." Bart finally turned his face towards his brother. "Maybe you would be better off. I don't know – I have no idea how much you've been hurtin' all this time. But Pappy wouldn't be better off. Or Beau. Or Jody. Or lots of other people you've helped." He paused for just a moment, and a tone of anger crept into his voice. "And I sure as hell wouldn't be better off. You've saved my life more than once. And in more ways than one. If you weren't here . . . . . . . I'm not sure I'd wanna be, either."

There it was, at last. What Bret had always thought but never told his brother. That as much of a pain-in-the-butt as they could be to each other, life would be too lonely and unhappy without Bart's presence in it. He reached down into the bed and scooped Bart up into his arms, and held him close in an embrace for long minutes before setting him back down.

"So don't ever pull another stunt like last night again."

"Yeah," his brother answered.


	21. What Goes Around Comes Around

Come See the Paradise

Chapter 21 – What Goes Around Comes Around

By now even Bret recognized the knock on the door as Sonny's. He opened it and she came in, kissing him on the cheek as she passed. "Well, looks like somebody's awake," she remarked as she walked past the man propped up on three pillows in the bed. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better."

"That wouldn't require much, considering how you were last night."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Sonny turned to Bret. "I hate to ask this, but could Bart and I have some time alone?"

Bret smiled and then chuckled. "Sure, Sonny. I'll go eat." He looked at Bart before leaving. "Behave yourself, you hear? This lady saved your life last night."

"Yeah," Bart answered.

Bret put his hat on and left the room. Sonny closed the door behind him and then went to sit next to the bed. "Now, how are you really?"

"Better. Really."

"Good. Because you almost scared your brother to death last night. He was a mess, Bart. I don't know how he did everything he did."

"Was it . . . . . that bad?" he asked her.

"No, actually, it was worse. If he hadn't gotten there when he did . . . . . you either would have burned alive or the smoke would have killed you."

"He told me."

"I saw the look in his eyes. He looked like a man about to lose the only thing that mattered in his life."

"Was trying . . . . . to protect him." That started another round of coughing. Sonny went over and poured some water, then brought it back. Bart took it gratefully.

"I know that. I think he knows that, too. But I don't think it would have mattered if you'd died."

"No."

"You can't always get answers to everything in life. Sometimes you get an answer but it's not the one you want." She stopped for a minute and swallowed. "I know how that works. I didn't get the answer I wanted. But life goes on."

"What answer, Sonny?"

She turned her head so he wouldn't see her eyes. "About you staying in Mystic."

"Oh."

"You're going to leave with Bret, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Don't know yet."

"Soon?"

"Probably."

She smiled then and stood to go. Before leaving, she bent and gave him a kiss, a sad, sweet good-bye kiss. "Thank you, Bart Maverick. It was a privilege getting to know you."

"Sonny, I – "

Before he could finish she was out the door and gone. A few minutes later Bret returned to the room. "Sonny left in an awful hurry, didn't she?"

Bart looked up at his brother. "Yeah. Said goodbye."

"Goodbye? Is she goin' . . . . . oh. You're leavin' with me?"

"Yeah."

"I think we better wait a couple extra days before we go. Just till you're well enough to ride. Alright by you?"

"I'll be ready."

Bret looked down at the man in the bed. "I know you will."

XXXXXXXX

Almost a week later Bret was getting ready to pack when Bart returned to the room. "I'm all set. I got everything taken care of and it's all legal."

"Alright. I'll meet you at the top of the pass. You have no intention of repeating anything up there, do you?" Bret asked, just to be sure.

"Not a one. If I never run into that stuff again I'll be a happy man. I'll be there waitin'."

"See ya soon."

"Yeah."

Bart left and Bret shook his head. It was good to see his brother up and around again, even if he was still moving a little slower than usual due to the extended time it was taking his broken ribs to heal. This had turned into quite a journey for what started out as a 'little' trip to recoup their losses. Bret thought over everything that had happened, most of it to Bart; he'd become a landowner and he was just about to divest himself of that burden, he'd romanced and left another girl, and seen visions of their mother and his dead wife.

Bret had finally allowed his brother to know just how important he was in Bret's life. Oh, Bart knew his brother loved him, but Bret had rarely let it be known just how much. Bart had a father, he didn't need another one, even if he had resorted to calling Bret 'Pappy' more often than not. Yet that's what Bret felt like – he'd basically raised Bart, after all.

He exhaled, relieved that everything had turned out as well as it did. Now all that was left was a final goodbye to Mystic and the land that would forever hold a piece of Bart Maverick's heart – and thank God, not him physically.

XXXXXXXX

Bart took his time climbing the mountain. It was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen as far as land went, and he was both saddened and overjoyed to know that he probably wouldn't ever see it again. The mountain had almost claimed his life for itself, but it had finally freed him from the burden he'd carried for years – the belief that somehow he was responsible for Caroline's death. He felt like Bart Maverick again.

Kimimela knew he was coming, and she was waiting for him just where he'd first seen her. Her pony was tied to a bush entwined with Devils Breath, somehow fitting for the full circle this journey had turned into. He dismounted and dropped Nobel's reins. "Hello, Kimimela."

"Hello, Bart Maverick," she greeted him. "I am here, as you asked."

"I've brought you a gift, all legal and proper," he told her, and reached into his coat for the papers he'd had drawn up this morning. He handed them to her and she looked at him strangely.

"What is this?"

"This," he started, "is the deed to the mountain. The land we're standin' on. It bears the name of the new legal owner."

She opened the papers and read the name on the deed. "But – this says Kimimela, of the Lakota tribe. I don't understand."

"It's easy. The property is now legally yours. Every court in this land will uphold that deed, no matter what white man comes along and disputes it."

"You are giving this to me?"

"To you and your people, yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's yours. It was already given to you, but I have a feeling the white miners in Mystic are gonna try to take the majority of it away. At least this way you have the legal right to all the land on the mountain and nobody can take it from you, in court or out of it."

"But you paid money for the land."

"And I had no right to it. This way it'll belong to the people it should belong to."

"You learned this from your sojourn with the spirits?"

"My sojourn . . . . . . . oh, you mean my encounters with the Devils Breath? No, I knew it a long time before that. I think I knew when I bought it that it really wasn't Fenn Atwater's to sell, and it wasn't mine to buy."

"You saw those you wanted to see?"

"When I was under the influence, you mean? I saw the one I needed to see."

"And you are happy with the visit?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure I'd say I'm happy with it. . . . . . but I'm at peace with it. For the first time in years, my life's right again. For that I say thank you." And he tipped his hat to her.

"I say thank you to you, Bart Maverick. I was right, you are a good man." And she reached up and pulled his head down until she could kiss him on the cheek. "May the spirits ride with you and your brother." And, just as she'd disappeared the first time he'd ever seen her, she was gone in an instant.

Within a few minutes he could see Bret's stallion climbing the road. Bart remounted Noble and was waiting for his brother when Bret reached the crest. "All set?" Bret asked.

"Yep, I'm ready to go."

"Any regrets about leavin' this place?"

"Nope. Not one. Part a me's stayin' here, anyway."

"Oh?" Bret asked. "Which part is that?"

Bart laughed, a loud, joyous sound. "The part of me that I don't need anymore. The guilt. Where we headed anyway, Brother Bret?"

"Oh, I don't know, Brother Bart. Let's just see where the wind takes us, shall we?"


End file.
